Windy winter mornings

Morning breaks through the guise of sleep. They have laid there resting for a long while but sleep has not seemed to reach me. The time spent in that state is now time wasted - and not even wasted comfortably. The window that had been left open in their exhaustion now lets a cool breeze permeate the room, spreading past many layer of blankets to kiss at the arms and legs beneath. Light jumps in too, through the blowing blackout curtains flapping heavily with each gust.

Todays morning is cold and bright. The cold is something he likes. How he wishes to embrace it fully in all its icy delight. He wonders how long he could walk in the cold, how far he could get. Could he pass each street twice, then thrice, till there was none new left to see? He wants to leave, to see, but is kept by her desire. She who is only annoyed by the air which penetrates her perfectly warm darkness. It has probed her awake, and now keeps her there as she tries so hard to avoid the coming day. She wishes desperately to be left alone.

They do nothing for a long few minutes. Just lie in the warm-cold contrast. Sleep will not visit again, not like this, so they stall in the in moments between. Then, he leaves the bed and lets the chill take him. Winters day is waiting, and its expected to be windy. Even so, he ‘forgets’ to bring his coat when he makes his way outside. When that first gust of wind hits him it stays to rattle within his very core. Dead leaves fall around me in artful, cascading waves as he wanders down the back path. How cold it is outside, but how utterly warm he feels.