6.50 am and the sun rises silently over the Seaways Kilimanjaro, a bulk tanker moored at Hound Point that is, I imagine, being pumped full of oil, fresh from the North Sea. I'm newly awake and wondering around the house considering coffee, a shower and an early morning walk and this is/was the view from the window - yesterday.
The sweet, warm promises of the red dawn slowly died away as the day unraveled and a dull grey mist descended in the still air accompanied by some feeble rain. Autumn is proceeding at her own slow, grim but curiously pretty rate. Red sky in the morning is somebody's warning I guess, a reminder that the Covid never sleeps (until it's about two years old that is, weakened by relentless mutation and so it becomes just another annoying but powerful version of the flu).
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