The season has shifted in its cycle,

as it has always done and ever will, 

from when the First Nations trod across

this land to this overly ‘civilised’ world

where all things seem under control.

 

The season has moved to clinging cold

and the winter blast from the south has

driven us inside, as the chill and the

rain enclose us in their misty net, but

we are safe from the bitter world outside.

 

And from these cocoons we emerge out,

becoated, and drive in heat from one place 

to another, complaining about the cold and

the rain, till we return to the place from

whence we came to snuggle in our beds.

 

12/6/2022