Ode To Winter.

The nights are longer and darker in August even though the shortest day was six weeks ago. The night feels right for thinking and writing and I concentrate on draft after draft before the final version. My imagination is tuned in to more frequencies and more stations, without any static on the airwaves. I can write in longhand until late in the evening and when I get out of bed in the still-dark morning, When I see outside the window ripe lemons on the tree by the fence. Once more I can make my own drinks adding sugar and honey. The guava tree which I planted in autumn has grown fruit down low, fruit that will last. The fig tree, though, is slow to grow. Some nights the rain falls heavily on the corrugated-iron roof; it is a unique sound that I like to hear and it is soporific. There are gale-force winds which blow stronger in July, like the winds of change which are blowing now across this country. 4/5 August,2019. ]