the ice by candlemas groaned and splintered
piece over piece as the north wind came
and blew the fragmented bones of it to shore
and let the west wind turn to southerly
and warm the waves and tilt the tiny floes
hail-grained sides uppermost to sky and sun
and let the light begin to burn inside them
and reach the stony river beds beneath
the ice would never freeze like that again
it knew tomorrow must bring fire and heat
by lammas it had fled to heaven and to cloud
by hallowmas it could not even dream of cold
© BH, 2026
I had a picture of ice, fractured by an early thaw in January. Two things came to mind: the obvious cycle of cold and heat that runs across the seasons; and the longer change of climate where the cold is driven away sooner than before… eventually driven away forever.
When ice no longer dreams of winter, where will we all be?
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