I keep thinking about days lately.
Earlier in the week I walked out the front door, and thought, “What a cracking day.” The next day was just the same. You know the kind - when it’s really cold, but clear and dry and the sun is blinding to make driving impossible.
And today it was just cold and wet. Blowy and miserable. I was in the high school for their SU group at lunchtime, and there’s this kind of archway bit in the middle of the buildings where a corridor or something sits over the quad below. There must have been near a hundred pupils crammed under this thing, sheltering from the weather. I don’t blame them. Could have done with some shelter myself.
There’s the stereotypically British fixation with the weather for you. But does it not sometimes just make you sit up and take notice? The cold, crisp, clear winter’s day; the mild spring morning when the light and the shadow makes you wish you’d brought your camera with you; the hazy early morning in the middle of the summer when there’s no cars on the road yet, but there’s already dust in the air; when the rain falls right-to-left and the cars in the potholes make it worse; when the hills have a light dusting of snow, but nowhere else has; or when the same hills are completely hidden by cloud cover at 25 feet.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow is my day off, before a typically busy weekend. Right now life feels something like the time I was riding a bike down a hill and the brakes went. All I could do was just keep on riding and let it run out at the bottom; that or turn into someone’s driveway and pile into their brick wall. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that’s normal, though.
Days. They just keep on coming, unbidden.