Winter's in its final days
The sun has made its promised return
Headed north
soon past the equator
Daylight now past 6pm
Not long now till the equinox
Snow will come
and more high winds
The grass is brown
rustling horizontal
in the unceasing
gales of the northwest
Hailstones dance
in a fandango with the wind
but crows are nesting
and lambs will soon be here
As the days open out
the machair is empty
the roads derelict
the beaches waveswept
The Window on the West
is framing the setting sun
in a house now empty
of your voice but by memory
She who knows all
is awaiting patiently
in her forever home
for your promised return
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