You gently wake in your flannelette pyjamas under your heavy Winter doona. Searching around with your feet, you can feel your bunched up, thick bed socks that you kicked off during the night. Up and down, up and down, stretching your ankles as you yawn and roll over. This part of the pillow is cooler, and you notice how crisp the air is. You expect stillness yet can feel movement in the room. 

You hear grinding coffee beans, steaming foam; that must have been what woke you up. Your partner will be delivering you a hot coffee soon – not too much milk and in your favourite mug (of course).  

You crack one bleary eye open and are faced with your upstairs bedroom window – also cracked. The linen curtains are lazily pushed by the chilly air. The clouds, also heavy, are threatening to rain at any minute. Your cocoon expands as you breathe deep and let it out slowly.  

It's the start of the weekend and you have nowhere to be. Extending your legs out as far as they go, you stretch your entire body. Your back makes a satisfying pop. With a happy wiggle of your hips, you settle back into your nest.  

The birds are quiet this morning. They must be sleeping in as well, you think. Your tin roof starts to drum – the rain is starting. Hopefully the birds are somewhere safe. You imagine a family of them hunkered down in their nest that they have built inside a bird house. They have tiny scarves, a crackling fire in their itsy fireplace, and lots of worms to eat. Your smile grows as the image gets cuter.  

The rain starts and the room floods with petrichor. It peaks to a roar, then settles into a constant downpour. You don't know if your partner has come back into the room with your coffee until you feel them next to you. ‘Can I please come in?' You harumph that the request is approved and open the blanket fortress. You rub his arms and use your feet to warm him, as his skin is much colder since being out of bed. You cling onto each other for what feels like a long time. Your breathing syncs. It feels safe and warm.  

Eventually, the call of coffee is simply too strong. You both sit up and look out at the rain, cupping the hot mugs in your hands. ‘What did you want to do today?' You croak. ‘Just this,' he says as he flips on his laptop and loads up the next episode of that show you've been watching. You both doze in and out, cuddling, watching, listening, breathing the Winter air - permission to do nothing but this.