The Lee is grey, reflecting the winter sky.
The piercing wind penetrates my coat,
and sharply flutters around my ears and collar.
The heat drains from my fingers. I start to shiver.
Along the bank the swans stick out no more;
today their feathers blend with the monochrome. We stop to feed them. Guzzling eagerly,
they have their fill, stretching their necks for more.
We walk on by the boats, bouyed on by hope,
as Christmas lights break through the gathered gloom.

A winter walk along the River Lee with the family.
(28.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025