Winter (August)

Inside our minds we are twenty. Saturday morning warmth sleeping in, then reading what we want instead of what we must. Outside windows, grey. We make the most of winter, calm today but last week or next ‘lashing winds’, ‘flooding rains’. Our whole world may be summoned with the right words. But inside our bodies we’re fifty, sixty, seventy. A winter ache starts somewhere, then disappears, or worsens. We go outside: water freezes in buckets, cold August bulbs let out early flowers. The doctor talks science when we want humanity. Home again to ease up with silver packets of capsules.