I think it’s called,
one centimetre of frozen fog
clinging sideways to the boughs,
encasing leaves in sugar crust.
I’m iced through to the bone,
breathing misted distance, straining
eyes through milky filtering light.
We walk in fog and faith that there will be
more earth,
more trees.
Read more:
Rose Segal is a British writer, indie-folk singer, and 2018 graduate (distinction) of the Creative Writing MSt at the University of Oxford, where she specialised in poetry about the natural world. Her work appears in Palm-Sized Press and Boyne Berries, amongst others. She lives near an ancient stone ring in the Cotswolds with her growing family and menagerie. Listen at www.rosesegal.com or follow her Instagram: @rosesegalwriting
Latest posts by Rose Segal (see all)
- Hoar Frost - 3rd December 2021
- Blackberries - 5th September 2021