Mornings thick with flies.
Heat radiates lucent waves,
bouncing off the ground.
Top of 35 degrees (C) today!
I wish it was winter still…
By Sarah ©2017
crunch under foot.
Bracing breaths; foggy skies.
By Sarah ©2017
Image credit George Hiles
“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.”
– John Steinbeck
Prompt: Sammi Cox, A Month Of Mini Writing Challenges – 3 September 2017
Task: Write a poem in less than 10 lines on the theme of winter.
My eyes popped open as the alarm screeched, hammering my brain. Noooooo! I thought.
I peeled back the covers and promptly pulled them back over myself again. It was FREEZING. I snuggled back in, pretending I hadn’t heard the clock. I tried to go back to sleep but guilt kept my mind from such joy.
“Are we getting up?” my husband asked, after a few minutes.
“I don’t want to,” I replied.
“Come on. It won’t be so bad,” he promised. “Count of three? 1…2…3…”
We threw off the covers and bravely jumped out of bed. I began hopping from foot to foot, as the cool tiles stuck to my soles. I frantically tugged off my pyjamas and put on my active wear, ready for our daily morning walk. I considered my usual cap and opted for a beanie instead.
We opened the front door and the icy chill hit. It was straight from the antarctic. Although the sky was still dark, the moon reflected on the sparkling, shimmering frost that coated the blades of our front lawn. There was no going back now. We crunched through the ice leaving green impressions of our shoes behind us.
As we hit the footpath, I was so grateful I had chosen the beanie. We breathed out and steamy clouds escaped our mouths. It was at least 0 oC or below and perfectly crisp.
“First frost for the year,” my husband observed.
“Mmmm, hmmmm.” I answered, unable to unclench my teeth long enough for a more eloquent response.
I shivered as we walked along in the foggy early morning. My fingers numb, my nose running and my limbs stiff from the shock of the cold. Our footfall echoed in the still air. Each step, an effort.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Twenty minutes later we arrived back at our house, green footprints still visible and guiding the way. As I opened the door, I felt enormous relief that it was over.
We made ourselves coffee and porridge for breakfast. The warmth from the coffee thawed my frozen digits as I cupped my mug. The oats seemed to radiate from my belly, heating my core. I began to feel human again.
As I looked over at my husband, content, I said, “The first frost is always the worst.
He grinned and replied, “Sure is. Same time tomorrow?”
By Sarah ©2017
Image courtesy of Pixabay
A self-confessed blogaholic since January 2017
A gorilla's existential crisis
Poetry and Other Music
A Great Photography Web Blog
No one in the world can define you better other than you, yourself
Sunsets, Landscape, Seascape, Architecture, Vintage, Religious themes and Long Exposure #adrianevans
art, writing, reading
James Edgar Skye
Photography, fiction, humor, opinions, and whatever else I feel like posting
(in her 40s)
Exploring what it means to be human
- My Essays for the Essences in Life
Stories about life -- on and off the road.
Photography by Dennis Wagoner