crossing caversham bridge
on the coldest of afternoons
breath condensing
fingers tingling
light fading fast
in a blemish free sky
first friday of the new year
sees ripples on grey water
frost on a deserted promenade
a plenty of swans a swimming
a graceful gathering of so many
white feathered beauties
in mid winter surroundings
impossible to count
bodies gliding and intermingling
in regal silence it seemed to suggest
they had gathered from every meander
on river’s length congregating in strength
in a chosen place to celebrate
without a trace of conflict