Cold memories

In my youth I recall waking up on cold winter mornings, opening my eyes to clouds of my warm breath floating in the ice cold air of my bedroom. Frost had formed on the inside of my metal framed single glazed bedroom window.

I could hear my father banging the back door behind him as he came in from the coal shed, rattling the tin coal bucket. Trying to get the house warm before we would venture out of our beds.

Cold

It was freezing

But I wasn’t complaining

I had not known any different

Winter’s were cold

Summer’s were hot

Memories from my childhood

I’ve never forgot

There was ice on the windows

Inside not out

And clouds briefly formed

As I let my breath out

Dad would be downstairs

Banging around

Making fire lighters from yesterday’s papers

Then coal rattling out from an old tin bucket

Striking a match he touches the paper

It starts to smoke

More and more

Finally it starts to roar

Slowly the warmth moves through the house

And the windows start to thaw