This poem was written in real time, in the small hours of the night—not at a desk prepared for “creative work,” but wrapped in a teal blanket, slightly breathless from the stairs, listening to the cats settle at my feet.
There is a particular honesty to writing at 3am. The house is quiet. The nervous system is tender. The body makes itself known. There is no performance left—only observation.
For neurodivergent minds especially, night can be a strange mercy. The world softens. Sensory noise lowers. Thoughts that feel crowded by day find space to line up gently. Even something as ordinary as reaching for an inhaler can become a moment of grace rather than interruption.
The poem arrived as the moment unfolded: cold air through a cracked window, a shiver, the steady reassurance of purring, one measured breath, and peace returning in increments.
Sometimes writing isn’t about crafting something impressive.
Sometimes it’s simply about telling the truth of the room you’re in.
Out of breath I climbed the stair,
The kitties’ water needed filled;
I cracked the window for some air,
Though March’s draught was sharp and chilled.
A shiver travelled through my frame,
The house still holding winter tight;
I wrapped a blanket round the same,
A little fort against the night.
The kitties circled at my feet,
Soft tails brushing as they purred low;
Their quiet warmth, their gentle beat,
Made calm the room’s remaining glow.
I reached beside the chair to find
The inhaler waiting by its place;
One measured breath to calm my mind,
And warmth returned in gentle grace.
Outside, the town lay hushed and still,
A single lamp along the lane;
The cold crept in with subtle will,
Yet peace returned with them again.
A stained-glass style image of a man seated in a chair at night, wrapped in a deep teal blanket. He holds an inhaler gently in one hand, turned slightly toward a window where a dark blue March sky and a single glowing streetlamp can be seen outside. The room is warm-toned with amber light from a small lamp on a side table beside a mug. At his feet rest two cats—one white and one brown tabby—curled close together, their bodies touching. The overall composition has the textured lead lines and jewel-like colours of stained glass, contrasting the cool blues of the night with the warm gold and teal inside.
NeuroDivine 
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