It’s so early,
the dog isn’t roused,
and the sluggish heating
is yet to announce.
But you pull on boots,
purchased for this,
and wrap the coats,
as the cat insists.

Off! the kettle’s click,
and steam in the kitchen,
thick in the cold,
you are still shivering,
then thinking, these mornings,
about warm breaks,
the dog wakes up,
invites your escape.

It’s a shortish journey,
‘long almost-iced lanes,
not far enough
for the heater to engage;
drop of your commuter,
pecked station-affection,
and then, lakeside,


your own re-invention:

On damp trod riches,
of slow rot of trees,
Elsa off lead,
you are both released,
under sight of sunrise,
over water,
the dog sees less,
as you stand altered:

Consider now,
from where you left,
your constant childhood,
here reflected;
that world reduced,
then four foot square,
now four miles walked,
you too protected.