Cold

Just came back from Kiwiland, camping and bouldering. It is supposed to be summer in NZ now. Ah, summer. The season where the sun shines brightly, days are longer than nights. Supposed to be warm, toasty, maybe even hot.

Yet, the days spent camping at Craigieburn Forest park could still prompt me to write this:

The wood sizzles, a flame flickers,
pink ambers beneath glowers.
The light is feeble,
fire's warmth hardly reaches.
The water stood still, within the pot,
a sip of tea is only a thought.

I rub my hands in earnest,
wtih hope of some friction may bring,
comfort to my fingers,
numbed in the glacial stream.
My knees hug together, the limbs out of sight,
bracing myself, to endure the long cold night.