Cocoon of Warmth

I had formed a lovely cocoon of warmth tucked under two doonas, a safety zone from the chill outside. I had fallen asleep reading and in my sleep I seemed to have been aware of this as the book was right by my side, on the same page i fell asleep on. This was good news as this was the very book my father had inscribed in 1952 while on his studies and therefore was already barely holding together, a reminder to treat it with much more care. It was the birds that woke me up, their sweet joyous songs heralding the arrival of the new day. I lay in my cocoon listening to them, delighted but also reluctant to move. The house began to stir around me seemingly also energised by the bird's salutation. Mum emerges full of energy and assumes her customary role of chief motivator to the troops. Today we were to help with preparing breakfast we were hosting for some friends and with my mum at the helm, it was no simple breakfast. My first task was easy. As I stepped outside, I realised the whole flat was a cocoon of warmth. The air outside had a distinct bite, a sharpness to it, a freshness. The birds were still singing and the remaining clouds from the heavy downpour from the night before provided a canvas for the rising sun. I contemplated going back for another jumper but soon I was in another cocoon of warmth, our 4WD with the heater on. The town was still asleep, there were two cars in the supermarkets carpark and no line at the German bakery. I still have yet to find anyone who doesn't love the smell of a bakery, the comforting warm rich aromas which wrap themselves around you. It seems the cold magnifies my sense of smell and it warms me up from the inside. Another cocoon of warmth in Hobart, Tasmania.