January Morning

Stumbling out of darkness
I come into the morning
carrying my grief and fears
like a demon on my back.

The gulls call me
to open my door,
and breathe in the air
of my shabby garden,
looking beyond,
where they criss-cross the sky
telling their stories.

The trees tremble
with anticipation
as the wind comes grumbling
from over the sea.

A magpie screeches,
a siren whines,
through sea-soaked city air,
and behind me,
my coffee pot hisses a promise.

Another morning,
and spring will come.

Linda Rushby 29 January 2021