a century ago

Awake,breathe.
It is late, and it is warm in bed. There is darkness outside, it must be early. It is not. It is winter, and the sun does not rise till later.
Awake, now. The son is not up, not the sun and not the son.
Not awake as he had planned.

Get up, bathroom, tinkle, in the porcelain lavatory bowl, wash the face in the stoneware hand basin. Hot water from the tap, that is pleasant.
It was a rarity on the New Year's Eve of 1918, a century ago

Get up, realise that the dizziness is gone, there is congestion in the throat, the headache is gone, perhaps that Christmas cold is going away.
 The body's need for rest is forced itself on the minds desires, making them take a background position.
And now that infection is receding again. Thankfully, it felt so permanent, an unwanted guest.


It is later, sit in the brown room with the cat and cup of coffee, warm and happy.
There is dim diffuse light from the nascent morning from the big wood-framed windows, it is nine, and there are the sounds of car doors closing outside, as the first shoppers go on the last shopping trip of the year, in the knowledge that the shops will close at midday.