Autumn

It's raining, which suits my mood. Wind-driven droplets trace, Pollack-like, along the windows.

Last night, and again this afternoon, the wind kicked up, shaking the world in burst of fury. It blew so hard it pushed the sliding door our of it's fitting, further and further with each gust until one whole corner was flexing away from the wall with the squeal of tortured metal. The talented husband-fish dynabolted everything securely back into place while I made us a dinner of steak and veg with mushroom sauce.

Steak to get my strength up: I don't know where it's gone, but I don't have it. What I thought were the final strains of viral infection were just the first repeat of the coda. Back to short days again after a consultation with someone paid to decide such things. Back to mental vagueness and the urge to excavate my eustachian tubes. Too much, too soon & co. after Saturday's work catch-up mission and a Sunday outing to Port Arthur. Ho, and indeed hum.

The rain falls and the mountain skulks under its loose, grey blanket. Not today, murmurs the world, no not today.

Perhaps tomorrow.