Late Spring
Rain skitters on the window in plinking bursts.
There is a tiny blink of sunshine on the horizon,
But it doesn’t stop the splishing, spitting and splashing of rain down the drainpipes.
The road is slick and its not very warm, out there.
But we are,
Cosy here.
Nestled under blankets with cushions cocooning us, we eat popcorn.
We snuggle in front of the fire which pops, crackles and snaps, like the cereal,
But warmer.
As tiny animals in a burrow,
We entwine limbs closely, huddled.
Meanwhile, the birds do the same.
Nesting and waiting for the late cold to leave,
And the even later spring to arrive.
We are warm,
We are comforted,
We are snug.
Rain plops gently on rooftops.