The thermometer reads 2C, but the light coming through my office window tricks my body into thinking that things are brightening up, and that the cold spout is nearing to an end. I know that I have been tricked, as soon as I move my warm reddened face from the sun’s gaze and leave my little room, I am great ed by the cold chill that has fallen upon dear old London. The sun sure is a little trickster, blazing so brightly, yet the snow that had fallen in a desperately thin layer is still covering the ground and the poor flowers that tried to arise too early. I have been thinking a great deal about poetry, something I wish I could read by a ho roaring fire, but a modern white heater will have to do, I have been trying to find a poem which would convey the mood for the moment, and the one that I came across is by Dylan Thomas; it’s a poem that brought warmth to me as the images reminded me of summer when the days are warmer, longer and brighter. I do not for a second say that I do not enjoy the winter, for I do, it’s just that, because I am ill, I long for a good old nap and warmth, and for a mere five minutes, this poem was able to deliver, so I leave you with this poem by Dylan Thomas and I don’t want you to think of the windows as an option to jump out of, at the moment, I’m thinking of them in the context of letting warmth in and being a part of all that is outside of it;
That Sanity Be Kept – Dylan Thomas
That sanity be kept I sit at open windows,
Regard the sky, make unobtrusive comment on the moon,
Sit at open windows in my shirt,
And let the traffic pass, the signals shine,
The engines run, the brass bands keep in tune,
For sanity must be preserved
Thinking of death, I sit and watch the park
Where children play in all their innocence,
And matrons on the littered grass
Absorb the daily sun.
The sweet suburban music from a hundred lawns
Comes softly to my ears. The English mowers mow and mow.
I mark the couples walking arm in arm,
Observe their smiles,
Sweet invitations and inventions,
See them lend love illustration
By gesture and grimace,
I watch them curiously, detect beneath the laughs
What stands for grief, a vague bewilderment
At things not turning right.
I sit at open windows in my shirt,
Observe, like some Jehova of the west
What passes by, that sanity be kept.
Peace and warmth to all.