a poem of depressive thoughts

It’s been raining.
Heavily.
All day.
The skies are as glum as a Lottery winner who has just gone to cash in their ticket,
only to be told it expired last week.

I am sinking.
Quickly.
Into SAD.
Or maybe I’m just miserable because it’s too wet to walk, and too cold to cycle,
and I can’t get the sun I seek.

It is boiling.
The water.
In the kettle.
(Not the temperature outside) So I plan to warm myself with a mug of soup
made of potato and leek.

RC 16-9-15