It took a moment to realise what was happening.
As my eyes adjusted, I could see my breath—like a kettle left boiling. Cold on my lips, while the rest of me was wrapped in warmth under the duvet and two dogs.
Winter had arrived.
The fire had gone out.
Frost traced the window above the bed. Condensation from our breath ran down and pooled beside my head.
Warm the boat.
Dressing gown too far.
Up. Slippers. Move.
Fire.
Nothing.
No coal.
Get dressed. Outside.
Onto the roof—ice, frost, no grip.
Back in. Light it.
Wait.
Kettle on.
More condensation.
“Fully insulated,” they said.
Bullshit.
Coffee in hand. Fingers thawing.
Winter was going to be longer than it needed to be.
Where’s that list.
Heating.
Insulation.
Refill the coal bucket before bed.
“Walkies.”