Last month's poem of the month writer, Morag Reid, has chosen this month's poem. Morag says,"I'm an urban poet with an affinity for wild, natural places when I can get to them and free my mind & soul. This beautifully concise, precise poem captures the mystery of a wild place, such as Cumbria in winter, and leaves it open for the reader to decide what a 'soul place' means. I loved its quiet power." Find out more about Andy and his work at http://www.writeoutloud.net/poets/andyhopkins When It Is Winter In The Soul Place there is perfect complicity nothing small breaks curfew everything vast is taut every sound has no cause and is the last sound. When it is winter in the soul place firs loom wind has no influence listen listen to the bronchia of forest. When it is winter in the soul place the air sits it just is water chatters water words to moss ditch pool bears the meniscus weight of heaven, like Atlas. When it is winter in the soul place rock is backlit there is the brackish ghost of fox nothing else has ever paused here but hoofed things pass this way when it is winter in the soul place.