Winter here is not friendly but it does not lie. All pretence of camouflage is stripped bare for all to see the frailties and reality that Summer’s dreamtime seeks to hide. So ends my dream odyssey and lacking the fortitude of my feathered friends, I hasten to fly south to confront a different reality test under the unrelenting scrutiny of the Antipodean sun.
Thank you to all who have helped me on my dream road and greetings to my southern friends amongst
WINTER IN THE NORTH
When earth meets sky and night and day close conjoin. It’s winter in the north. Birdsong and leaves have gone. Ice crackles underfoot on the meadow bridge as I trudge, at first light, to see what Murdoch’s minions have made of another media day. Paper boys’ gloveless hands fuse to freezing handle bars as with a grunt of greeting they whiz by, soon lost to sight in the wintry white fog.
Thank God that mode of earning on Mancunian Winter’s morns is far behind –I hope.
Ducks and Canada geese refuse to migrate and abandon their comfortable feeding pitch in tourist alley and Christmas lights still twinkle, ever so frailly against the massive backdrop of a Norman church. It’s still too cold,whom I hope soon to be defrosting my bones.
So it’s both Goodbye! And G’day!
BARRY
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