Oh, blow wind,
we said yesterday, and it did. It blew and blew. We've got blue sky blown in this morning.
We choose our happiness; we choose sadness. We say I'm going to carry this weight. Could we cast off the heaviness? The drooping of shoulders is habit. Break the habit, put on the vestments of joy!
As I drive north out of Fairwater, I see that my blue sky is disappearing into a haziness everywhere, thick greyness, light locked up in moisture. Even when the sun breaks through the haze briefly, the light is almost liquid.