A Temporary Shelter
Joe Pickles
The untouched, untainted, rural world
That fresh, earthy smell tickling my nostrils,
Inviting me
The harsh rasp of the zip
Then sliding into the embrace of the sleeping bag
A protective cocoon, welcoming me
The warmth seeps into my body
Soft down holding me lightly, a baby in its mother’s arms,
Until I no longer feel the hard ground beneath me
And I watch.
Moonlight filtered through thin walls
The silhouette of a scuttling explorer is exposed above me
But its shadow disappears, the moon obscured by cloud
And I listen.
A light tapping at first
Building steadily to a hammering,
To a boom of timpani
Until it is an orchestra of percussion
Amplified by the taut shield of the tent
And I feel snug
… And smug that I am not outside
Getting wet.