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Rainy Sunday Morning

¦ dialling in from the sky bunker ¦

09:20 on a Sunday morning. Grey skies out there and tranparent pebbles of rain water cling to the glass bulkhead. Just come upstairs from my morning ritual- though I've just remembered I've not done any Yoga for a few days now-  rolled out of bed naked at 9.05, leaving Jo asleep, pulled on a baggy blue T-shirt (OLD NAVY, the one I bought in New York in 1998) and padded barefoot and bare-legged downstairs. Tip-toeing around the kitchen because the tiles are cold; filled the kettle, brewed a mug of tea, upstairs to the Room-with-a-View, where I sat until now, gazing out across the edge of Bristol to the open countryside beyond. Dundry Hill was just visible through the haze of rain. Air is seeping into the room through the window, it smells fresh and wonderful. The tea is divine on my sleep-dried pallet. Instantly my brain kicks into work-mode. I resist the need to head up here and concentrate on relaxing for a few more minutes. A lovely bubble in time. Today Jo and I tackle the garden for the first time since we moved in. We have stores of napalm in the garage, and an army of worker-drones rigged with slashing blades....naaaaa, not really, we've got a hacksaw and a pair of shears between us. Oh happy days.

Djr