Cold bit my hands, hail fell around me like white crumbs - even the birds were quiet. Wind in the North bringing five degrees, sun pale, ineffective. Better stilll, than prison or hospital - clean fresh freezing air, camper vans going up the road, no-one here. Freedom on the tongue and in the heart, no care, no liar, no switchback. One day I won't be here but while I am I know no lack. I ran the race uphill didn't look back.next poem