The Winter storm

The moon shines down through the trees casting its chill shadow across the ground. The wind crashes through trees sounding like a storm-tossed ocean, sailing on this ocean are ragged clouds, tinted silver by the moonlight, ghost ships of the sky passing silently by. Through undergrowth darts a hare by now exhausted, close behind, gaining, is a fox, they pass out of the woodland onto the heath.
The moon disappears behind bank of cloud.
Across the moorland where the dragon used to live the pair chase. Panic and fear courses through the hare’s body pushing it on, behind the fox determined, pursues it sensing the feast ahead, not long now, it’s waiting will soon be over. Now the rain starts and lashes across the plain, the wind rages across the moor and in the forest leaves fill the chaotic air as the wind rips them from their trees, a few cling on to their trees like survivors from a shipwreck.

Out onto the moorland, follow the chase: the hare heads for a lone tree. A once mighty oak stands straining, blasted by lightning many times, past storms having broken it boughs, but still it stands proud, another winter to see through, resting until spring returns. The fox chases on but as it passes the oak it feels a presence and looses concentration in the chase. Suddenly the wind stops and a silence falls, the fox cowers, above the clouds still rush by, the heather all around thrashes about. The fox feels a chill run through it and there is intense cold the grass all around turns crystal white.
As suddenly as the calm the fell, the storm returns fiercer than before.
An old tawny owl feathers ruffled by the storm shelters in a tree at the edge of the forest looks over the moor can all this happening. It sees the effect the presence as it appears to be rushing around the moor searching. The storm all around is reaching its height lightning dances around the hills, the searching spirit stops an intelligence is there sensing, questing, travels off at speed toward the lightning, when it reaches the hill it surrounds the tallest tree on the hill, the bark around the trunk crystallises with frost the spirit waits in its self made calm.
Suddenly a silver ribbon shoots down from the sky, the lightning strikes the tree bark and wood explode, the spirit flies skyward.
Silence falls all around and the rain stops, the wind ceases a sense of expectation fills the moor and forest, all the creatures fall silent. Gently out the sky frosted flakes fall. All across the landscape millions upon millions of flakes fall, slowly the country is covered in snow, deeper and deeper, ice forms on pond and lakes.


Winter spreads out across the land and the trees of summer sleep, only the pine trees and hollys are awake for this time of snow and ice. As dawn approaches high in the sky geese can be heard calling escaping the winter farther north.

In this time of cold the distant expectation of spring keeps hopes alive.