A dark mist hung over the Shire all morning today.
Everything dripped but nothing else moved. I went for my walk at lunchtime
anyway, as I always do, and then the weather gods changed shift. The mist
lifted, the sky lightened a little, rain began to fall, the wind rose, and the
temperature dropped. (And the Lady B’s dear mama drove past me on the lane to
give added impetus to the new regime.)
Am I talking trivial rubbish? I think I do sometimes, especially when the weather is the primary concern. But you see, we people of Britain and Ireland – we merry mix of Celt, Pict, Nordic, and Saxon – usually bear the brunt of Atlantic cloud, Atlantic storms, and the dropping of Atlantic water. And so the weather gods who rule our little islands have their home not on some sun-blessed mountain in southern Europe, but on the wild and heaving wastes of the grand Atlantic Ocean. That’s why we notice the weather a lot and talk about it on a daily basis.
And besides, it’s my blog’s birthday tomorrow and I like to keep it moving even if it is much given to desultory dawdling at the moment.
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