The sky is such a pretty blue colour

and the birds sound so...
Lovely.

 

My toes lay bare poking out at the end of my bed.

Exposed to the prickly cold of my room at night.
They feels as if they’re being nibbled by delicate moths. Let them.

 

I wish there were someone here.
Awake.
With me.
Taking in the tonic of birds calling the day in.

Or enjoying the defiance of sunshine,

as it illuminates the grey clouds of night

and turns the sky grey-blue.

 

Grey-blue.
Like rock pool waters.

Or tired eyes.

 

I sit.
Like a cat.
At my windowsill.
Embracing the charming wave of swaying trees.

They too cannot come to terms with sleep.

Allowing the stagnation of slumber cease them,

Retuning them to stationary bark or listless leaves.

 

So the trees wave at me.
And in my 4 o’clock brain I make a note.

To wave back when the winds are down

and the trees are trapped.

 

The trees too need moving company,

to remind them,
they’re alive.