Seasonally Affected

I wish that I could hibernate.
I wish I could wrap myself in thick blankets
or better still cocoon in the high-tog sleeping
bag from last summer’s festival
watch black and white movies on TV

Showboat or Carousel, Singing in the Rain
or even It's a Wonderful Life, though
I only watched it three weeks ago at Christmas
wrapped in aforementioned sleeping bag
with fairy lights twinkling around the room.

I don't want to be a grown up or even human
to be honest, don't want to get out of bed
or dress, drive to work in the rain, come back
immediately again to pick up everything I forgot
the first time. Don't want to make decisions

answer questions respond to emails. Don't want
to work full stop - prefer the idea of hiding
here where no one can see me, a return to those
COVID days when we were told to stay in, make do
and mend - a privileged existence I know, not

one required to keep things ticking over
whilst the rest of us hid. Not an existence to
return to forever but just for a while, just
for these cold January days and a little way
into Feb, whilst the sun still has its face

turned away and its power diluted whenever
it does decide to shine. Until the first green shoots
appear on the hawthorne bush by the front window
and looking out one day I see them open quickly
phthalo green against the dark wood of its thorns.

Then I would unzip the sleeping bag. Then I would
step from it, stretch tall towards the ceiling
yawn long and loud and hungrily and
tiptoe out like a waking bear heading
for the woods.

Alison Mott

Photo by Rehina Sultanova on Unsplash