Frost-shod,
wind-whipped,
hunkered;
scarfed, gloved,
suitably-sensibly-multiply-layered,
we walk
foursquare toward
a dazzle of
but-lately-risen,
barely molten,
low, slow winter sun:
puddles iced by last night’s starlight
squeaking, squeezed
beneath our boot-treads;
Giacometti shadow-puppets
skipping
in our wake.
Birkenhead-born recovering actor Ken Cumberlidge has been writing and performing poetry, songs and stories on and off for 40+ years. Since 2011 he’s been based in Norwich, where he can be spotted most days, muttering and gesticulating in the company of an embarrassed-looking dog. Don’t worry – the dog’s fine.
Enjoyed this. You clearly visited the Giacometti exhibition last year. Greetings from Holt.
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Hi Linda.
Glad you enjoyed my little seasonal vignette. Re. the Giacometti exhibition – actually, I didn’t! Wish I had…
Cheers,
Ken
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