I dreamed that it was snowing.

Huge flakes

like albino hairy caterpillars,

which dissolved at the touch.

In the distance at the riverside,

stood an old castle with watermill attached.

The air had a feel and smell that was

North Yorkshire

with its icy tang.

And the lonely moorland stretched

two centuries hence.

We resolved to explore the castle

first thing tomorrow –

with its watermill that didn’t turn and

a roof long-since burned.

But for now, we throw snowballs

before our gloved hands freeze.

Your laughter whizzes between

the flakes like it is an alive thing.


Author: Alex

I work in a college library, and love reading and writing. I write short stories, poetry, blogs and children's stories. I was diagnosed with breast cancer in April 2015.

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