the furnaces
have been cooling for years
each passing winter
a little quieter
than the last

on the walk
down Attercliffe Road
the air tastes of rust
and old rain
a barking dog

someone has chalked
BRIGID IS COMING
on the shutter
of a closed tool shop
a slow cold drizzle

a month till Imbolc
though no one here
says the word
they just talk about
the light returning

in the empty yard
behind the rolling mill
a shape moves
too big for a dog
too slow for a fox

a bear
I think for a moment
it’s absurd
but then again this city
holds its ghosts close

Brigid they say
once walked with bears
was a bear or mothered them
hard to know what’s true
but if the stories fit

the steelworkers call
the furnaces “the mothers”
and when they roared
the whole valley shook
waking from a long sleep

now the only heat
is from a fire in a barrel
three men
in hi‑vis jackets
warm their hands

they talk about shifts
that never came back
about sons
who’ve moved south
the price of scrap metal

one of them swears
he saw a paw print
in the mud by the canal
the others laugh
but not too loudly

the hinge of the year
the moment the dark
loosens its grip
when something stirs below
something that won’t die

empty foundry
a bear-shaped shadow
crosses the frost

Paul Conneally
3rd January 2026

….

Now go listen to Star by Venus Aphrodite: