Wintering

Nothing and everything is the same. I wake from half-sleep to a cold nose and heavy limbs, sinking into the cold mattress. I’m so cold that if I even move an inch I’m afraid the steely air will reach through my thin cotton trousers and penetrate the core of my body, and if that happens my chances of getting up are zero. I press snooze several times and drowse, eventually facing the inevitable – rushing upstairs, half-blind, scratching around for a mug. Water bubbles up inside the kettle, and there’s a sharp smell as a thick slice of lemon flops onto thick wood. It’s winter here.