At a time of grief




During and after my mother’s death

I left plenty of space for grieving

or so I thought.

It seems to need so much

perhaps, after all, I will need a new life.

All this brokenness and sitting still.


The cherry has been pink since December.

It blooms from dry branches,

never lets go.




poem and photograph Rose Cook

Imbolc ~ Poem for Brigid


February steps in cool,

clear light glances through doorways.

She leans on the threshold,

her eyes spark bright.


She brings green shoots,

the promise of fresh sillion in fields.

We still hear winter’s song, but draw

close to the fire with a smile.


Brigid is come with her blessing,

the earth breathes.

Rose Cook