Too Cold for Comfort…

Image by Susanne Jutzeler, Schweiz, from Pixabay 

Image by congerdesign from Pixabay 

This is a continuation of my recent post about how pleased I am that I am writing again.

And I really am, but there is something else going on. Or not, depending on how you look at it. Something I am having trouble coping with.

I didn’t mention it at the time in case it was a temporary thing.

I have been up with the lark, writing my socks off and enjoying every moment. Followed by busy mornings, catching up with all the routine online stuff.

All good, right?

But my afternoons couldn’t be more different. I have always regarded the afternoons as my time, where I get creative making new posters, book covers, trailers and new posts.

Since having covid, which was a nightmare, I am far from back to normal and try as I might, I cannot conjure up any magic.

The weather here in the UK has been brutal. I have been so cold; it has just added to my woes. All I really want to do is curl up under a blanket and read. The temperature is set to rise a little tomorrow, and I hope this will warm up my brain too…

We haven’t had any snow, which hasn’t helped my mood either…

The Sun is Shining, but it’s a Terrible day…

I am feeling dreadful today, and had forgotten just how miserable a streaming cold can be…

I know, not sure where this came from either…

Better tomorrow?

Jaye

Jaye’s Week…

I awoke one morning a few days ago, to find the world outside my window had turned white, but it wasn’t the snow we had been promised. A thick frost lay over everything and a mist crawled slowly along the ground like a predatory animal. A perfect picture postcard.

I was up early and had the house to myself.  I was feeling so much better this week, so I sat down at my desk to write. That was when I discovered that this part of my brain was refusing to function, and was as cold and empty as the scene outside my window…

We did finally get some snow.

I say some rather scathingly because although the signs were promising and the initial snowfall encouraging, it fizzled out and stopped far too soon, leaving meagre patches here and there.

The temperature fell to bone-chilling depths, increasing my daily trips down the garden to make sure our feathered visitors had enough to eat.

It was after one of these trips, as I sat at my window and watched these lively little creatures happy to feast on the seeds and fat balls hanging from my favourite tree, that I began to think about their lives. They were so incredibly small and delicate; how do they keep warm all night in the bitter cold?

Where do they sleep?

I felt the cold, in the safety of my home. Even with extra layers and thick warm socks. My mind was full of images of all those small, huddled scraps of feathers, spending each night roosting in a hedge while the temperature fell to the floor.

Worrying about them all was beginning to keep me awake at night, fearing the worst. However, the next morning, the same jolly crew appeared, unaffected by having survived one of the coldest nights for years.

They are just like us, each with a tiny heart and blood. Flesh and bone covered with an inadequate supply of feathers. We wouldn’t survive out there, so what supernatural force keeps them safe in conditions that would kill you or me?

Image by Wolfgang Zimmel from Pixabay

Cold Christmas… #Poetry

Image by No-longer-here from Pixabay

Cold Christmas

I recognise the darkness, the chill in the air
The Christmas wish that didn’t come to pass
The lonely streets of London
So many feet rushing by
The occasional clink of a coin drops in my old hat
A kind stranger
placing a wrapped sandwich in my lap
I sit here on borrowed time with one wish in mind
To find a table with space for me to sit
Join in a Christmas feast by a warm burning fire
Christmas crackers waiting to be pulled
To touch the hand beside me in grateful prayer
Thanks spoken for the warm food
The chance to part of a family Christmas cheer…

© anita dawes 2020

Cold… #Poetry

 

snow-1782614__340.jpg

Image by Pixabay.com

Cold

Frost white morning

I slip my head beneath my duvet

No way are my feet moving

From this warm cover

Today I stay hidden from the world

To dream of things to come

A future made of stardust

 With bright green jewels

A land where you leave a wish

Knowing it will come true…

©anitadawes 2020