Dylan delivers our milk,
Rich, creamy, butter yellow white
Blessed by mountain angels and Swiss cows
Each mouthful, pure delight.
It is 5:15 pm when he pulls into the yard
And Dinas Head still shimmers with duskling light
Dog days of January,
Murky, misty Saturday night.
“It’s as if the year is taking chicken steps” he says
The longer days are creeping into being.
And he drove on
Much more for him to do.
This week gifted us Candlemas,
“Imbolc” as the Celts would have it.
Crocus, snowdrops, wild primrose
All peeping through the coming grass
Finca scrambling the old stone walls
And two daffodils crowning the cairn
On a windswept, frosted Carningli,
Bracken brown dejected.
Others also work long days,
On into the darkness
Injecting fresh hope
Raising possibilities of renewal.
Diminishing at least a portion
Of year long
Gloom and fear.
Salutations to our NHS
Raise a glass to
The milk of human kindness
And the quickening of the year.