A day so silent

(i)
A day so silent
it makes me wonder if perhaps something
quietly momentous
is happening in the outside world
 
or maybe it’s because
I didn’t have any breakfast
and haven’t yet had any lunch

(ii)
I cut a twig of rosemary from the garden
and snip its needles
into the simmering rice

grind in
a little salt
 
The cabin windows begin to steam
 
Perhaps this silence is the sound
of my soul returning?
I whisper
cautiously
to myself
 
(iii)
I let the fire go out last night
because the chimney sweep was coming this morning
I wasn’t that keen on getting out of bed
there were traces of nocturnal ice lingering on the inside of the windows
 
After he’d gone
I made and lit the fire
swept and mopped the floor
and then walked down to the sea
past pristine bundles of joyful snowdrops
and a solitary primrose
gently beckoning spring

(iv)
Upon my return
patches of the floor were still wet
so I put on some old odd socks
and danced the floor dry
sliding and shuffling and skating around
to some comic and soundless song
 
(v)
And to think:
only yesterday
I seriously considered throwing those mismatched socks away