It isn’t snowing. It isn’t warm either. Neither is it dry. It is a bit of everything and almost all of nothing. We were hoping for some snow to put a pretty white border on everything. Or for a coat of the wintry sun’s soft light at a slanting angle. Or for a bit of thin, dry, crisp winter air.
As I seek a way through the mountains of workload and umpteen tasks, I am very tempted to pitch a tent at the earliest – in the middle of a different kind of infinity.
I miss this campsite – although cold and windy, it offered visions of the bluest skies. The date and time stamps on the photograph say 31 August, 8.42 p.m, although the imprint is as fresh as ever.