How do sunsets get so effortlessly stunning? They are the same phenomenon each time, yet we're all seduced by any half-decent dip of the fiery ball. Here's a quick snap from my phone, doing it no justice whatsoever.
Our attic looks to the far South West horizon, towards Arran and Islay. As I poked my head out the skylight tonight (careful not to let my glasses plummet), I watched an ambulance scramble in silence, blue lights flashing hypnotically. A plane ascended into the orange sky, floating like a dragonfly.
Was the ambulance Covid-related? The ambulance and the plane and the proverbial butterfly's wing. I thought: we'll never get to 'Zero Covid' if we allow planes to fly in and out without strict quarantines. ScotGov please sort that out.
In earlier blog posts in March, I talked about the, 'Oh my God' moment, that hit us all at the beginning of the pandemic. I felt like today was a second, 'Oh my God.'
A second wave. Scotland's highest testing numbers since the pandemic began. Six months of winter ahead.
I confess, I am somewhat frozen in horror. I've resorted to picking up old self-help books, like The Power Of Now! I wish. Although, the book does try to teach living 'in the moment' to lessen anxiety. I'm trying.
Tess's cough has relapsed. Sigh. She is on anti-reflux medication and I don't know if the effects are wearing thin, or if the body is just following its own mysterious fluctuations. I have emailed the GP, (who is probably crazy-busy).
There is so much to talk about right now. So many ways that the mind can run rampant. I get a 'system overload' sensation sometimes and just want to stare out the window, or eat too many raisin bagels.
Luckily, I have a terrified dog that needs walking through autumn leaves.
She hasn't got to the chapter about not barking at the postman, or eating toast from the kitchen table. All in good time, Sita. We're here for a while, and we've all got a lot to learn.
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