In the face of an early morning drizzle,
On a fireside earth-throne,
I sit and summon thoughts.
The firewood, red with the suppressed anger of
Smouldering fire,
Crackles constantly
Amid the paying of wages of serenity.

Thoughts and fascination cringe
My breath now pulsated by the throbs of wanton
Visions . . .

Invasion!
A gust of rain wrestles me down.
I stand, peering deeply into the grey, fussy
Band of wetness,
Where the eyes of rain met mine
In one quixotic moment.