Slate grey skies scrawled with muddy cloud chalks juxtapose deliciously with mellow xylophones from a chill hop station this morning.
It might be termed as a blessing by some, however I find myself unable to believe in such words and to me these blissful moments are just that, fleeting delights in small cheerful pockets of contentment that on some days are easily captured in their opaque colours of happiness and some days they fade into vitreous haze that dissipates speedily before one can as much as glance at them.
The latter days this year have been aplenty; the impetuous moroseness of 2020 has foreshadowed every singular moment of brisk joy and robbed us of our smallest, most sacred seconds that come about with something as simple as a good cup of hot morning tea.
It's those halcyon hours that I find myself resurrecting in the safe space of my home, my brown glossy floors, my green thickets of small plants around the house, among my little jars of China, around my fingers feeling the soft fur of my cats, amidst the strands of twinkling fairy lights wrapped around book shelves, in my kitchen among familiar smells and sounds of my own pots and pans.
I find myself reaching back and rediscovering my little rituals that helped me feel content, that eased my anxieties, that helped me feel an entity in my own world and not an outsider that I'd sometimes feel.
Thursday's!
I'm currently designing a small workout program for this week before I join the gym next month and run headlong onto the same path I'd strayed far from.
There is however a narrow wild gully which often intersects my tracks and for that strip of impassioned, indefatigable diversion I am glad..
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