The days are short and dark and cold
The trees are skeletal and bare
fog and frost hang around each morning
With the smell of wintery air
Fires burn for warmth and comfort
Blankets swaddling our forms
Snow and sleet a fact of life
As we ‘batten down’ against the storms
Is there a tiny chink of light?
In this tunnel of wintery doom
Is here a chance of sun and fun?
To chase away the gloom?
As I open the blinds this dark cold morn
And yawn and stretch and shiver
I see the dawn breaking through
A tiny pale silver sliver
A thought of Headingley comes to mind
Like an itch that needs a scratch,
I smile and look at the calendar
125 days to our 1st County Championship match
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