I don’t want out yet 

I like writing all day 

I like sleeping when my body tells me  

I like cooking and baking and savouring my spoils 

I like watering my veg 

I like seeing what my resident squirrel has dug up earlier that morn 

I like being alone with my thoughts 

Pondering as I watch clouds out back 

They reach out whispy fingertips to one another just to dissolve before they touch 

The grass tickles, warm underfoot 

Memories are ghosts that dissolved with the clouds 

I don’t want out yet 

Perhaps, never.