February Ruminations.

Sharon cooked tortilla for lunch today. She used up the very last potatoes from our allotment and some eggs at least one of which was from our aging hens. While it was cooking I sat and listened to the wind. It sounded hostile, alien. In one of my special little sketchbooks, one that I keep for best, I wrote a poem:

February Ruminations.  

                                       February, I chew the cud.

                                       The wind in the bare thorns

                                       is bestial, raw.

                                       My bed is warm,

                                       but stale thoughts

                                       belch up like

                                       last night's beer.

                                       I wait for spring.

                                       Hoping it will come.

                                       I am never certain. 

                                       I have so little faith, 

                                       not even trusting

                                       the Seasons anymore.

                                       The sky is ash grey.

                                       A polystyrene box

                                       rattles past and 

                                       the bare stalk of
                                       a climbing rose

                                       taps on the window.

The tortilla, omelette variety, was delicious. It vanquished my hunger and my melancholy.