Ten to Two

We are back to 'that' time of year.
When you wake and rise in the dark,
And six o'clock closing,
Is also in the dark.
Frost means;
A slippery back step,
No more tomatoes,
Feeding out,
And Winter diesel in the car,
(so don't refuel on the coast).
A hot water bottle and chilblains,
Are your nightly companions.
It's imperative to keep the fire going,
ALL night,
You listen for the kids coughs and snuffles,
And have eucalyptus oil ready for the vaporizer.
It is 'that' time,
When your house has damp mouldering clothes hanging from:
The old wooden cot you have suspended above the slow combustion stove.
The dual clothes horses tethered in prime loitering spot in front of the fire.
Sheets adding an extra dimension to the curtains, sharing the ends of the rods.
Sometimes even the back of a chair is employed to drape a damp towel.
So why does your cosy home resemble
A Chinese laundry?
Simple...
Washing only dries between the hours of ten and two.

Still Grey

A fortnight is a long time ,
To miss the sun.
Not so much the warmth.
Nor that its absence has brought incessant rain.
It is just the insipid grey.
That drags your spirits down,
To the bottom of your muddy shoes.

Maybe tommorrow,
As I'm opening my longing eyes,
Through my window,
Will come,
That welcome blue.
Herald of the sun.

But for now,
It is a conjured daydream,
To cling to,
And keep gloom at bay.
For still,
It is grey.

 

Invigoration

What is it about the combination of wind, rain and outdoor activity,
That causes such invigoration of the soul?
I was very tired,
Up far too late last night.
Yet,
Being out in the paddock,
Moving soggy goats and their shelter.
Pulling down electric fences,
And tramping through the paddocks,
Just made me feel alive.
My nose was runny and wet cool hairs streaked across my face.
My clunking gumboots even had a leak and a stone.
Yet,
I had a smile in my heart.