On holiday with aging parents and compromised health. Hiding away in the guest bedroom. From the boredom of being ill on day three to being on the turn.
Three days and counting.
When will it end?
This tyrant, void of airs and graces.
I’m a holiday hostage, a useless guest.
Meals on trays at my door.
Masked smiles with kind eyes,
Loving parents and their 160 years.
All three of us juggling the covid slime ball,
Invisible and nasty.
I wake up before dawn,
Tricked into feeling better on a Covid wave,
I open the window.
I breathe down deep the fresh air
The same air that honours the moon
Reaches my lungs triggering a cough
But it’s a tonic all the same
It’s a delight,
The scent of the air is wine in a beautiful glass
The window opens out towards a whitening sky
Answering to dark grey silhouettes,
Roof tops and garden sheds
Steepened and darkened by leftovers of night rain.
Rooks rally to the swirl of branches.
A bashful moon flashes its eyelashes through the cloud.
The view from this capsule
Slips away over the hills beyond the river,
Beyond skylights and chimneys, over X-rayed trees
Revealing their secrets for all to see,
Knots of mistletoe and skeletons of love nests
Are mapped against the sky.
Day Four.
Hours, days sleeping. Enough!
I open the curtains, relieved the light doesn’t hurt anymore.
I open the latch. The town still sleeps
A wind chime in gentle tones from the garden below catches the breeze.
Its song slips into a pocket of air
It floats up, pampering, sweetening the breath of dawn
A cat on the roof tops, stops, sits on its thrown, bolt upright,
King of the apex roof.
Merging into twilight, as grey as the brick wall
It stares at me.
Cool and collected, speechless at my intrusion.
Landlord of these tiled slopes,
Its eyes give away nothing.
Dear imposter, this is my hour.
Morning reveller with night lagged toes,
I know, I have opened my capsule at cat hour.
Shall I have pity?
Shall I come and visit you?
It wonders,
Shall I purr at your window?
You sorry sight with dreadlocked hair,
Are you worth the sacrifice of missing the early bird?
It sits motionless, not a whisker
Nothing.
The answer escapes us both.
I feel the chill of night air
Body heavy and tired with the aches of a sherpa
A heavy sigh, time travels too slowly in this bed.
The radiator below my window has started to warm.
Rooks squawk and fly low over houses,
Every morning they head East in their circular life.
Breakfast, a communion in treetops alive with their boisterous banter, fills the sky
Followed by seagulls,
Wings in slow motion against the wind.
I envy their freedom
How it must be, every day with their wings of perspective
Looking down, keeping proportion, life in 3D,
Lucky things.
Up, looking down,
Passing my open window,
The covid capsule window
This Covid, this capsule,
I wish it would shatter into a thousand pieces
I'm not sure how I missed all three of your Covid capsule words Pip they ring a bell though from my first falling back in March 2020, that heaviness and definitely the dreadlocked hair. what a beast it is! im so glad you're home and recovered xx
Your words are telling me this is the first day of improvement. You describe everything so beautifully . Rest , sleep and water are serving you well . Take care get well soon Pipp .
I'm not sure how I missed all three of your Covid capsule words Pip they ring a bell though from my first falling back in March 2020, that heaviness and definitely the dreadlocked hair. what a beast it is! im so glad you're home and recovered xx
Your words are telling me this is the first day of improvement. You describe everything so beautifully . Rest , sleep and water are serving you well . Take care get well soon Pipp .