Another damp morning,
greyness hanging about the smooth surface of the pond, a wetness on the streets of Fairwater. All the green is dark in the muted morning light, as if to suggest a storm is coming. I don't know that one is. The temperature is in the mid-50s.
A slight breeze in the air, a stickiness. The world turns with a fair bit of moisture holding us to life.
The flag at the cemtery in Fairwater blows west to east. The air so heavy it looks like rain. The air so heavy it's actually raining or else I'm slamming headlong into dampness and it runs down the windshield as I drive north. Then farther on there's no question about it - rain.
School has been out since last week, I think. You don't see children on the streets walking to school, you don't see crossing guards, you don't see school buses. The school season has ended. The season for play has begun - at least for children's play. It is the bitter business of seriousness for the rest of us.