By: Blonde Two

You may be forgiven for suggesting that I am a bit seasonally confused at the moment. For most of the week I have been insisting that spring is on its way but today, I am discussing winter.  We do so many things so well down here in Devon but winter really isn’t one of them.  The crisp, cold, nose tingling days that I remember from my childhood in Worcestershire are rare gems when you spend most of your winter weekends walking inside Dartmoor’s clouds.

The winter Olympics will almost certainly never be held on Dartmoor.  They would have to change a fair few of the sports for a start.  Imagine “Bog-Sledding”, “Two-Man-Bog” and “Misty-Tor-Dancing”.

STOP PRESSThis just shows the omnipotence of the Weather Gods even down here in Devon.  As I typed the previous paragraphs, A hail storm attacked my windows and the cloud lifted over Haytor – can I spot snow?  I bow to their greater powers … maybe I was wrong about the Winter Olympics after all.

The poem the BBC are using to advertise the games thrills me to the core.  We are not in charge of the weather or the hills – we like to think that we can conquer them but … well the poem says it much better than me and makes me think, not of skiing and skating but of 2,000 eager Dartmoor youngsters lined up, in May, at Anthony Stile – every single one of them waiting to “have their day.”

I am the dreadful menace.
The one whose will is done.
The haunting chill upon your neck.
I am the conundrum.

I will summon armies.
Of wind and rain and snow.
I made the black cloud overhead.
The ice, like glass below.

Not you, nor any other.
Can fathom what is nigh.
I will tell you when to jump.
And I’ll dictate how high.

The ones that came before you.
Stood strong and tall and brave.
But I stole their dreams away.
Those dreams could not be saved.

But now you stand before me.
Devoid of all dismay.
Could it be? Just maybe.
I’ll let you have your day.