Last day of winter. Could I be anywhere but here,
Marking the moment, feeling the great wheel turn?
One final skirmish in a war fought on long cold fronts
Against the North wind’s fists, clear nights with sharp knives.
Now its white wolves, cowed and muzzled, slink back to their lairs
Among the floes and treeless slopes shot with scree.
A westerly breeze sends dead leaves spinning before me
As, together, we run winter off the road.
I started this on 29 February but wrote the closing two lines today, when the weather finally realised that Spring officially began a week ago. The long months of filthy bikes and endless layers of thermal/windproof/waterproof cycling kit are at last coming to an end. And not a moment too soon. N.