Sun is not going to be out today. Least, does not seem likely.
Low overcast cloud. The trees and leaves green and turgid, stirring fitfully in the cold uneven breeze.
But today, today, it will not be so. Today the sun is hid, and maybe unhidden only in the afternoon, if it does.
Have just done a bit of work. One of those days, when words seem to flow smooth, and life has that edge to it that makes it worth the while to sing about its oil of happiness. Reading Charlotte Bronte’s poem, ‘Life’ this morning, I am minded on how fitting it is. Life is not a dream dark. Life is a flow of river, sometimes quick, sometimes a cascade, sometimes slow and lumbering, always flowing.
And today, it flows. Though it is true that the sea is the final destination, yet I will take joy in the song of the bird, the strains of music in the air, the tang of cold on my skin, and the news of a football match on the other side of the continent.
The Kenyan convulsions have eased, a bit. Though we are still taking the aftershocks. Have heard of another world wide convulsion in the stock markets. Had never heard of something that is called ‘sub prime’ loans and things like that. I will not swear to knowing the definition, even now.
But I know that in this global village of our, that unknown thing may affect how I do the things that I do.
A day with the adrenaline coursing near the skin, yet I cannot help yawning. It is beautiful, how many times can I emphasize that without being repetitive?