Successful expedition.  Grytviken basking in balmy zero.   Back on shelf at minus 14, well stocked with lamp oil, whalemeat, blubber, pickled cabbage and two bottles of aquavit!!  Freezing fog.  When we speak outside, the words stay in the air and hang around the tent.  Voice message from Oates there last night.  Unrepeatable, poor chap! 

Capt.RF (Keep Dancing) Scott RN.

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A hesitant dawn, you silence the bells 

And change the scene

with that touch of myth   

that turns every  living thing to ice.

Flakes bristle from every twig,

spicules sparkle like Christmas,

then detach and sink,

swinging through a sunlit sea. 

The trees, decked like brides,

Mock hungry deer with confetti

No celebration here as they clash  

And paw the snow in  their frostration.

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across the secrets

of the ghyll,

the pond whispers,

trees tap, rocks -

the very earth

turns darker still

and sense is flooded

with despair. 

And after the rain,   

a drowsy peace,    

the melancholy air

warms, thickens,

grows darker, greener.

Buds burst,

leaves stretch,

reach out

to fill the gaps.  

Close your eyes,

rest, listen, feel  

how soft lamentations

of blackbirds

heal the wound,

and when resonance

reminiscence yields,

anguish fades,

loss is less,

and hope flickers,

takes wing,

wagtails dance

and gleeful swallows

sweep the air,  

while the cob glides

the darker water

and the pen lies sleeping

on her raft.

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