Snapshot Of A Late November Morning Poem by Matthew Holloway

I awake between two and three in the morning
The sound of rain upon the caravan roof
Is almost like the waves upon the shore
Beautifully distracting
I crawl beneath and through the duvets
Multiple layers, it is winter after all
Reaching out a hand I flick on the small heater
The whirl of the fan kicks in
And the chill air slowly ebbs into warmth
In a few hours I must raise and head to work
Tired as I know I will not regain any sleep
That's where coffee becomes a saviour
I take it black without sugar
The next hour or two I wait, reading
Poetry by the dim light of my phone
Got to love the internet my own library
Now I can smell the warmth of the air
And feel the weight of my eyes
November twenty-eighth just beginning
I sit here alone, writing