It's cold here now.
The rain forest in December
makes for damp sheets
and a chill I cannot shake.
The Christmas lights
I strung to cheer me,
didn't do the trick.
Nor does this warm lump
of cat in my lap, 
or a cupboard full of snacks
that call to me, teasingly,
from the kitchen. 
So I take shelter, curled
like a meadow mouse
in a nest of quilts,
resolutely dreaming 
of spring and sun and green
and birdsong,
while the world catches up.