Sullen Skies

It feels like the seaside
with wind blowing and waves crashing
against granite-pebble beach
and the hiss and clatter
as the waves drag pebbles back
to the bosom of the tide.

But I’m not at the beach
and the waves are the plastic sheets
on the shed roof
creaking and banging
and the bags of recycled plastics
taking flight
into sullen grey skies.

I want a lazy day
a crazy day
a wrap-up-warm-and-watch-an-old-film day.
I don’t want to write
or draw or paint or sweep the floor
I want to just snuggle with a blanket and the dog
and a book
and a cup of tea.