Close this search box.

A Temporary Shelter


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.


Next Page