My old friend Winter

Fat bluebottles lie on their backs
Cluttering my window sills
Eyelash thin legs kicking relentlessly
In a futile attempt
To cling onto life

As the heavy rain fills the pond in my back garden
Millions of indistinguishable creatures
Retreat into the murky lagoon

The cooling breeze blows an army of spiders
(At least four different varieties and sizes)
Through my open front door
Evicted from gossamer webs
They seek refuge beneath the trainers
Bin bags and soft carpeted floor

I clear out six months worth of dust
Ancient ash tickling my nose
My disused fireplace sends grumbles
Down the chimney, outraged at this violation

A trip to the local garage
I stock up on kindling
Coal and great logs of firewood
An insects graveyard
I grimace and brush off their lifeless corpses

With my washing line put into retirement
The dryer in the garage prepares for an overload
Of denims, fluffy bath towels
And my newest (and tattered) bras and knickers

We sit together
My man and I
As the flames flicker and dance
The rooms best feature
The fireplace glowing with pride
(Devouring the odd spider corpse we toss into its mouth)

The dried wood, cigarette nubs and a hateful telephone bill
Are fuel for the miniture hell we created

As the warm liquid heats our eager throats
We raise our glasses
And welcome Winter