FROZEN

Here on the island, winters tend to be mild. In Northern Ireland, where I grew up, they can be harsh and unforgiving. 
From December till February in that grey northern province, frost, snow and ice may be expected and I recall, as a child, the thrill of venturing out to slip and slide on frozen lakes.
In older age, of course, it's different. We feel the cold more acutely and are aware of the danger. Nevertheless, there's something magical about the transformation that winter brings to the landscape.

WILD GEESE

When we awoke the lake had turned to glass.
We ventured out into the crystal glare,
in rubber boots, through luminescent snow,
and were amazed, for nothing could surpass
the magic stillness of December air.
On glinting ice, young lovers skated slow,
their eyes, beneath their tousled hair, aglow.

Our exhaled breaths were visible; we laughed
to see those skaters gliding on the lake
as in warm summer evenings wild geese do, 
austere, white-breasted, splendid sailing craft.
and, as we watched, I felt a sudden ache
as I remembered, long ago we too
were young and fleet, before the wild geese flew.