The western sky this evening was one of those that’s difficult to
pull your gaze away from. Fold upon velvety fold of slate grey and salmon pink,
augmented around the edges with graded spans of pale and smoky blues. And
standing silhouetted against it was my favourite old sycamore, seemingly
regaling itself in royal finery ready for the new cycle of growth and
hospitality.
And then a lone bat circled the house, which was both a
delight and a cause for concern, since the daffodils are still only in their
infancy and spring some way away.
But do you know what? For all that’s dirty, dull, disreputable,
dangerous and just plain stupid about this world, such sights are the stuff to
remind me that maybe there is some value in coming here and being human after
all. I suppose it’s all a matter of knowing what’s important.
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