Afternoon Coffee

The trees in the front of my house are diseased. Bare from winter urges, they show off their limbs: marked with green and grey. Reaching out for something that they can't quite find yet. Having trouble dismissing. And as they make their advances, hands groping for something high up in the air, they are met by the cool touch of the rain. It's taken its time. Mustered its courage. Rallied its troops in thick cloud banks and paraded down to my doorstep. It sweeps over it's targets, blanket-like layers of water creating disturbance over the radio: "It's a treacherous, treacherous afternoon. Stay indoors! There are power-lines down and..." Thank you ABC radio. I've taken your advice and not left the house, whether that was your intended message or no. There is not much for me out there. I need a bit of paper. A chewed pen. A coffee. And just little more time to rest the green and grey of my insides.