The smell of firewood. The
Sounds it makes when burning.
Yellow light dancing on the
Paintings I made for my
Livingroom walls.

The ghost of my cat curled up
By my feet on the sofa.
Outside, the wind grabs
Branches and brushes them
Against the house.

I sit like this for hours.
Barely thinking; just being
Part of the room.
A song. A poem. Barely hidden
In the air.