This morning the sky and the Channel are equally grey - the sky looking full of snow - and there is snow still lying. We have to shop this morning and pick up my medications.
I think another poem is called for. But do I have a snow one I haven't blogged before? There is this little verse about a cold New Year many years ago. We were staying with my parents at the bungalow.
Those were the days when getting up from my chair was just that - getting up from my chair - not the marathon Everest climb by the North Face without oxygen and Sherpa support that it feels like now.
Whatever the weather - obviously apart from rain - my mother hung the washing out.
A January Washday in Sheffield
Black trees rattle in the icy wind
Through gale-smashed panes the greenhouse sings
Tights, shirts, tea-towels, bras and knicks
Dance to welcome eighty-six!