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.