I braced myself.
The bitter wind lashed the windowpane,
Angry it could not enter.
I pulled up my hood,
The zip closed against the snow
I called the dog whose tail ceaselessly
Like a machine plugged in,
Whirred in excitement.
We made our way up out of the combe,
She bounded with joy,
We hit the open hill
The wind howled at us in disbelief
What are you doing here?
This is my domaine!
I acquiesced intelligence.
We climbed higher,
Withypool hill was sleet wrapped
Like a parcel for Christmas,
The ground black with ankle-breaking ice.
The dog happy.
She bounded on,
Then I saw them.
I thought I was the only mad person
Going up the hill in this weather,
Half of Withypool were up there
Walking their dogs.
You’ve got to be tough to live here.
Caroline Baldock © 2013