By noon the light was in retreat
the nagging wind swung east, north-east
its oscillations conjured more ice from air
to add to morning’s thick frost still laid
below hedges trinketed with hips and haws
that baited flocks of redwings
whose fluted chirps and piped notes
added winter music to this rime
and brought vibrancy
to Cut Throat Lane.
n.b. Under the heading of ‘Weird Norfolk’ the local newspaper recounts the tales of Cut Throat Lane, Yaxham.
I cycled west from Norwich deeper into the heart of East Anglia. I passed poultry farms and great swathes of open fields, solid flint wall churches with square towers, wind turbines, solar panels and the remains of at least one war time airfield.
The old road was marked by roughly estimated mile stones. On one straight road I passed two white painted stones at least a mile apart that announced ‘Norwich 10’. When cycling into a freezing easterly such repeated approximate information can be a little demoralising.
The wooden road signs omitted distances and were held in slotted signposts that in wartime allowed hasty removal of directions, should an invasion from the Nazis have come.
I saw and heard many redwings today. Heralds of bad weather, these colourful birds make more tuneful chatter than starlings. They reminded me of being in love in Sussex and walking hand in hand through falling snow at this time of year, many moons ago.