It’s early; I’m sitting in the bed in the
van.
Last night, as the fire outside died, I
fell asleep to the sound of a spring breeze amongst trees; it was like waves at
the ocean shore.
Now it is raining and I am lying here
listening to the rhythm of her insistence on the metal roof.
Inside i am safe, snug and warm.
Outside the ashes of the fire are washing
away and dry cracked earth is celebrating the end of an enforced thirst
releasing a heady scent of fecundity.
I have tea, a candle and a good book (Jonathan Trooper).
Hmm, sounds ok.
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