Saturday

Winnie the Pooh would call it blustery, or would that be Piglet’s description? It’s an autumnal cliché, but as we know, the cliché  is a cliché because it works.

It is finally Saturday.  I don’t know why I say ‘finally’ as though some great respite has arrived.  I am still going.  No rest for the wicked, as they say.

Saturday marks the turn, from a five day space to a 2 day space.  Unless one is indulging in a long turn that is.

It is beautifully sunny outside and wind whistles through the ears and out again as the body crusades against it’s force.  Magnificent sounds of trees and shrubs; leaves swooshing crispier than they were a couple of days ago in the late October drizzle and mist.

A day like today is an alive day.  The wind barking wake up, wake up!  And I sit here energised in my stationary seat, writing, and reading William Boyd’s ‘Love is Blind’.  And it may be so.  But blind is love – a necessary vision; true to the heart; clever enough to rest in the well-manured rose garden.  Yes.  Out of the shit, the rose of love will blossom to share its perfume and let its head be watered by a purity.

Like the rose we each arise from the soil only to return once more.  And Persephone will rest; feed her rotted roots and step out again on Monday!