Looking out the window at midnight and seeing the stillness of settled snow, it glows with a light which brings back many memories....
Of my children haring down the slopes of the Waun at the back of our house on toboggans.
( Now the place is eerily deserted despite the schools being off).
Of my friend and fellow 'loopy' English teacher Pete Smith taking every descent with total abandon on only a black rubbish bag.
Of the Beacons and my older daughter Bethan speeding all the way downhill through an open gate and onto the A470 below, whilst myself and my son tumbled half way down.
Above all, of the times when my two girls were born, both December days of heavy snowfall.
Bethan over the mountain in so-called 'snake country' of Aberdare and Niamh ( as befits a Bluebird) in the Heath.
The first in notorious 1982, when it was the biggest fall of my lifetime and a neighbour kindly came over with blow-torch to unfreeze our ancient, inefficient central heating vent.
Even last year was memorable, as we returned from Bethan's wedding in India to blizzards at Heathrow , but somehow made it home thanks to my wife's single-mindedness, only for our combi boiler to go on the blink and a frantic search for a suitable engineer despite the white-out.
Despite such calamities I've always loved the snow and even at a writing course I once tutored at Totleigh Barton in Devon, we took time out between stanzas to borrow trays from the kitchen and slide down empty country roads.
As a teacher, a single flake whispered the promise of a day off.
One Head who regularly refused to close soon regretted it when he left his car in the school car park overnight only to find the very expensive sports car trashed the next day! After that, he'd close up after a couple of flakes!
Growing up in Aber I've no memories of early childhood snow whatsoever and then in Cambridge and its Shire there was a distinct lack of hills nearby, though we did play risky football on a frozen pond.
Only since living up here on Aberdare mountain have we all appreciated the seasonal playground.
It's a chance to become one with memories: to roll the years into a tight ball and hurl them with joy and mischief. A chance to watch them break up into tiny particles of laughter.
JOINING THE V
Her back's bent
she stares groundwards,
the old border collie
tugs her hubby round
Bryn Bach is mostly frozen
as mallards balance
on thin ice,
a flock of Canada geese
root out food below snow -
her two Nordic sticks
are vital extra arms,
she's determined as moorhens
finding warmer pools.
In her dreams she flies
south to her grandchildren
many continents away
from treacherous paths,
towards suns of smiles
she swims and glides
watching the grey glaze
of the lake disappear,
joining the V, higher and higher.
Of my children haring down the slopes of the Waun at the back of our house on toboggans.
( Now the place is eerily deserted despite the schools being off).
Of my friend and fellow 'loopy' English teacher Pete Smith taking every descent with total abandon on only a black rubbish bag.
Of the Beacons and my older daughter Bethan speeding all the way downhill through an open gate and onto the A470 below, whilst myself and my son tumbled half way down.
Above all, of the times when my two girls were born, both December days of heavy snowfall.
Bethan over the mountain in so-called 'snake country' of Aberdare and Niamh ( as befits a Bluebird) in the Heath.
The first in notorious 1982, when it was the biggest fall of my lifetime and a neighbour kindly came over with blow-torch to unfreeze our ancient, inefficient central heating vent.
Even last year was memorable, as we returned from Bethan's wedding in India to blizzards at Heathrow , but somehow made it home thanks to my wife's single-mindedness, only for our combi boiler to go on the blink and a frantic search for a suitable engineer despite the white-out.
Despite such calamities I've always loved the snow and even at a writing course I once tutored at Totleigh Barton in Devon, we took time out between stanzas to borrow trays from the kitchen and slide down empty country roads.
As a teacher, a single flake whispered the promise of a day off.
One Head who regularly refused to close soon regretted it when he left his car in the school car park overnight only to find the very expensive sports car trashed the next day! After that, he'd close up after a couple of flakes!
Growing up in Aber I've no memories of early childhood snow whatsoever and then in Cambridge and its Shire there was a distinct lack of hills nearby, though we did play risky football on a frozen pond.
Only since living up here on Aberdare mountain have we all appreciated the seasonal playground.
It's a chance to become one with memories: to roll the years into a tight ball and hurl them with joy and mischief. A chance to watch them break up into tiny particles of laughter.
JOINING THE V
Her back's bent
she stares groundwards,
the old border collie
tugs her hubby round
Bryn Bach is mostly frozen
as mallards balance
on thin ice,
a flock of Canada geese
root out food below snow -
her two Nordic sticks
are vital extra arms,
she's determined as moorhens
finding warmer pools.
In her dreams she flies
south to her grandchildren
many continents away
from treacherous paths,
towards suns of smiles
she swims and glides
watching the grey glaze
of the lake disappear,
joining the V, higher and higher.
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