between the ice. The Thames hasn't frozen
in years. Here is where the tidal river
begins; somewhere a bottlenose dolphin
might head towards from saltier water.
A chestnut seller hops on the towpath:
from his battered, black brazier, a red square
glows like a low sun giving us its last.
Over the crystal footbridge comes a team
of huskies hauling the sledge on which two
furred-up, Victorian bluebloods perch: she
tautening the reins with kid gloves; he so
upright, urging on the dogs, to their berth
in the Surrey hills: a well-tended hearth.