WINTER'S ARRIVAL
THE FOUR SEASONS
and
THE FOUR WINDS ALSO
Chapter Four
WINTER'S ARRIVAL
Winter has arrived
in all her iced-vice-like splendour.
For her it is a game.
For Nature and humankind
Winter is anything but a game.
Winter’s game is simple.
Cold and crisp
Biting into every bone.
Her onslaught
on winter garments
bought in Primark haste,
for other purchases tho’
Debenhams,
M&S and Waitrose
IF Recession allows it!
Girls regret
that indecisive moment
not to put on tights this morning.
In retrospect grasping,
At long last,
Grandma’s
common-sense and wisdom.
Huh! I won’t be caught napping
again!…
she wisely discerns,
Her boyfriend’s ridicule, regardless.
Down the long
beguiling sounding Carriage
a host of identical thoughts,
Akin to a squadron
flying in close formation…
He’s three sheet’s
to the wind by the time
it’s time for taxis
anyway!!
Her eye wanders
and catches three-sheets
entrancing her
and is flushed.
Slipping her phone
elusively into the
womb of her coat,
Her body quivers
remembering three-sheets’
Silk smooth skin,
the oil between them,
His tented hair engulfing.
Oh dear. A very hot flush!
Travelling inland,
the beach receding,
frosted fields increasing.
A yellow star
in the eastern sky arising
with wisps of cloud
and elongated vapour trails,
the hint, she decides,
of angel’s wings
converging on
the Port of Liverpool.
Yes!… she muses…
That’s how I like to see them
with my creative imagination
… mmmm …
she purrs
I think I might write a book one day.
They must be ten thousand meters high!
She muses afresh,
And senses bemusement.
… Gran would say that was
thirty-two thousand feet…
Erm. I think Gran’s right.
I like that… it’s more impressive.
She twirls her hair,
her hands are bare.
Cold terraced rooves
with endless chimney stacks,
and walls beloved by rail engineers
of yester-year.
Preston here!
Her eye wanders
and catches three-sheets
entrancing her
and is flushed.
Slipping her phone
elusively into the
womb of her coat,
Her body quivers
remembering three-sheets’
Silk smooth skin,
the oil between them,
His tented hair engulfing.
Oh dear. A very hot flush!
Preston here!
I say again, This is Preston.
Please check you have your belongings.
Tread carefully on the Platform
Winter seems to have arrived with a vengeance this morning.
2 December 2025
All Rights Reserved
Blackpool
© 2009 Ian Bradley Marshall
Digital Artwork by KTW
Ken Webb is a writer and proofreader. His website, kennwebb.com, showcases his work as a writer, blogger and podcaster, resting on his successive careers as a police officer, progressing to a junior lawyer in succession and trusts as a Fellow of the Institute of Legal Executives, a retired officer with the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, and latterly, for three years, the owner and editor of two lifestyle magazines in Liverpool.
He also just handed over a successful two year chairmanship in Gloucestershire with Cheltenham Regency Probus.
Pandemic aside, he spends his time equally between his city, Liverpool, and the county of his birth, Gloucestershire.
In this fast-paced present age, proof-reading is essential. And this skill also occasionally leads to copy-editing writers’ manuscripts for submission to publishers and also student and post graduate dissertations.
