I usually start like this, with describing the weather,
Which when I woke up, I saw, I saw the brown leaves scattered on the ground, like so many frosted cornflakes
And with the rising sun, vapours rise too in a wet fog
And there are birds, the rowan trees’ are full of birds , the berries are red, the leaves red like rust
And I’ve been tired, lethargic almost
But my father came, and we had beers outside by the fire, and look, I like the fire, to gaze into the fire
I don’t want to think inside of my own head today, so I won’t
That’s my prerogative.