CONNECTED TO YOU:
Windblown, Dark & wet. I love listening to the rain from the smug comfort of a warm bed. It’s hours before the alarm with the lights off my eyes adjust to the dark catching shapes shifting between the trees. Everything’s made of tiny pixels like a pointillist painting with forehead pressed against the cold glass I fantasise I’m out there on the other side of the window, alone & exposed. There’s a fat orange light seeping over the horizon, some urban action kicking off in the distance. Something small red winks bright low beneath an iron cockerel facing into the wind. Nothing moves on the back roads of Essex. The black top snakes silently between fields seeded with winter crops. All the growing is concealed beneath the dirt. I hold my breath try to hear it pushing up between stones & bones. The World breathes low, barely perceptible, slipped into the cracks between days. The fridge, humming to it’s self in the corner of the kitchen, reminds me we’re connected by wires. And I wonder what all of you are doing now as we cling to a rock spinning alone in space.