Home

The cold wind beats at my window as the snow swirls and whirls, dancing to its beat.  I sit in my old overstuffed armchair; a hot cup cradled in my hand, held up to my face, warming my nose and fogging up my glasses.  Over my knee a blanket lies, my toes trapping it so as not to lose it to the floor.  In this moment, in my favourite spot I dare not move, surveying my kingdom in comfort.

Overstuffed armchair
Has taken me prisoner,
My throne in my home.