Goodnight friends! Still a rumpled paleness to the sky, shot through with thin meandering veins of brightness. Air slightly hazier and more damp, but still clear enough that I didn’t feel any unusually great crushing pressure on my joints. Sycamores all towers of tarnished and peeling gold, woods woozy with the mingling sour fetor and mineral tang of mud, and the thick, cloying fermented sweetness of fallen apples. Afternoons continue to compress into one long blue gloaming, barely time for lunch before dusk begins to shade the trees.
A day of pottering and disorganised vagueness, starting and drifting off, feeling an itch of inquisitive, not wholly unpleasant dissatisfaction.
May we gently expand our self-concept, allowing ourselves to learn and change and grow today!
