10am and a thin veil to cover the skies. Damp air, damp mind, moist skin. A day wishing for weather that just makes staying inside and not doing anything on purpose more acceptable to the ever-restless self.
A lot later. The city and the night. Some light in some windows, some guests arriving late, some leaving early. Neon sidewalks, teenagers drinking in front of the pub and uncounted conversations escaping into the starless void. Dim kitchen. A cup of cold tea. Trying to catch up with oneself, unsure where to meet. Sleep tight everyone wherever you are.
Past 8am and watching birds through misty windows. The greyness of dust in harmony with the skies. Waiting for the weather to make its decisions while the village just moves on.
Past 9am. Caffeinated again, observing the thick clouds and the life unfolding behind all the windows opening to the street. Somewhere in between still sleepy and again restless.
(Too: The surprising endeavour of listening to ones inner monologues while mind and body are idle. Somewhere in between unsolved daily challenges, weird anxieties of all flavours, fantasies same as weird, and a transforming subtext hard to understand. Moving on as a strategy to avoid this kind of exposure. Trained to feel guilty in idle mode.)