Clouds low, moving fast above bare oaks Dark and light, all shades of gray High noon in winter, some days warmer than others Sun of life, dimly low in the south Not much warmth when He pokes through the gray Hold in the heat, the little you can, embrace it, enfold it Frosty breath, 35 degrees at home Thank God for heated grips and jackets Winter riding a pleasure. Wiggle your toes on the footpegs, try to keep them warm. Rows of cedars line the road, bits of dark green life Against the pale grass, against the naked Oaks and beeches Thermos of hot tea, engine off, ticking, cooling A quiet place in the forest Acres of trees quietly growing; farmland here For 300 years. Estates now. Is there ever a bad ride?