We're supposed to have
several days of greyness, with rain off and on. It is nearly the middle of June already, yet it still feels like springtime - the middle of spring; the start, not the the middle of green growing things.
"Jonathan," I want to say, "when things go bad, they go really, really bad."
The sky is crowded with clouds, and my view of it is clouded with trees.
Low hangers like Canadian clouds, in the sky between Fairwater and Ripon, tails hanging down like kite tails that might catch, dragging over the power lines. If you had to fly under the clouds you'd barely get over the barns, the trees, the bushes.
Just before I reach Five Corners sunlight breaks through, bright for a moment, then it's gone; as everything else will be gone someday when there is no day and night, no time nor eternity. At Five Corners, peonies are starting to bloom in the flowerbeds; they will be gone too, soon. All of us are just passing through.
In Ripon where I turn onto Highway 23, a crow overhead seems to trip in the air, nearly falls off the sky. "Whatever was I thinking," he caws to himself, "I'd better pay attention!"