After our weeks and weeks of glorious sunshine, it seems that summer is hastily making its exit (stage left, pursued by a bear?). This means we're back to the world of miserable Anglo-Saxon weather which is lucky for us as there's far more written in the poetic corpus about the wind, rain, frost, hail, hoar, sleet, snow, mist, drizzle and cold than the sunshine. So to get us started, here's a handy phrase from the Seafarer:
Calde geþrungen
/ wæron fet mine forste gebunden
(afflicted by cold, my feet were bound with frost)
["cald-uh ye-thrung-en / where-on fet meen-uh forst-uh ye-bund-en"]
Text from Sweet's Anglo -Saxon Reader in Prose and Verse, 1928.
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