I woke up to the first frost
tipped morning of November
with a shiver in my step,
crawling out of bed with
a whisper of a yawn.
This week was whirling gone,
as briskly as winter came.
I move nomadically from task
to task, underwater with desperate
and muffled hope that
I have failed no one this day.
I shall sleep through the season
to be wakened when the crocus stretch
their limbs from their benumbed slumber
and we shall greet life together.