It is primal

It is primal

Sitting in a darkened room

Before an uncovered window

Gazing out into the world

A grey sky

Incessant drizzle

Cave dwelling,

A Troglodyte,

Prehistoric survivalist.

Is it the Northern blood

The mining heritage

Can there be too much light

Too much happiness

Too much sun

What is wrong with me

That I enjoy a bit of rain

Cupping my hands

Around a mug

To keep them warm

Wearing woollen socks

Rather than use the heating

Saving the environment.

Mum and dad had a hot toddy

For elevenses

Perhaps it was a foolproof plan

To conquer old age.

Better to slink in shadow

Than to hide from the sun

Rabid dogs are less dangerous

Than an overheated male

With bloodlust.

It is much more difficult

To be violent

In the cold

It is all anybody can do

To keep warm

Never mind looking for a fight.

Even the Vikings were peaceful

At home

Apart from the blood oaths

And misogyny of course.

It is essential to rein in the need

To fuss

Take time out

Sit and let the world go by.

There is a particular smell after rain,

Freshly minted

Newly created

Washed clean

With all the dead skin

Flushed out.

When it feels like

We have another chance

At atonement

And the universe is about

To begin all over again.