Hygge Feature #23 Promises of Spring

In January one can start planning outdoor projects with a sense of them becoming possible soon. Small signs of new growth delight us. There’s talk of what to grow in the allotment as we note bulbs pushing through, though there is still a chance of snow and frost.  We also fondly remember previous springs.


Photo: Snowdrops in Daresbury, by Angela Topping


First Earlies

Cold metal freezes the fingers
grasping for the smooth
wooden handle’s safety.
Compost, nurtured and transformed
from last year’s waste,
trickles from the silver spade
into the trench bottom.

Potatoes sprutted, in the warmth
of the greenhouse, ready
for the burial routine of spring.

Carefully positioned,
spruts downward,
to aid their search for food.
A compost blanket,
delicately sprinkled on top
and a prayer, softly spoken,
for a prosperous harvest
in the sunshine of
summer days ahead.


Sharon Fishwick



Helmsley Silver Birch

Arboreal ballerina,

pirouetting confetti,

assumes first position

in an old English churchyard.


Harry Gallagher



High banks
along this very old lane.
Trees with ivied feet,
fingers just touching.

Oh that you would talk to me.
Yes a library has knowledge,
but it is the stars
that know your secrets.

Maureen Weldon


Published by Coffee House Poetry magazine

Included in her pamphlet Midnight Robin, published by Poetry Space Ltd.



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4 responses to “Hygge Feature #23 Promises of Spring

  1. Wonderful poems! Harry Gallagher’s will stay with me – so much in so few words!

  2. maureen Weldon

    Thank you Cathy Thomas-Bryant; and I agree Harry Gallagher’s ‘Helmsley Silver Birch’ is wonderful. Also thank you very much indeed Angela Topping for including ‘Killins Lane.’

  3. Hi Angela, what a welcome hygge feature #23 is. I love your photograph of the Daresbury snowdrops and think the three poems presented work well together, especially so with Harry’s brilliant 4-lines ‘Helmsley Silver Birch’ between Sharon’s ‘First Earlies’ and my partner Maureen’s ‘Killins Lane’. I’ve walked that “very old lane” with Maureen many times of course, and think she’s caught its magic well in her poem.

    My very best,