Just perfect ...

Days such as today has been leave me with a sense of unreality. The perfect weather is a big contributor to this - we're not used to day after day of sunshine, and today was not only sunny; it was warm, hot even in places (like my back garden) and at the height of absurdity prompted our car thermometer to read 31º at teatime. It's partly the contrast with the news: we potter around in our garden, record hymns for Sunday in our study, bring in deliveries that other people have brought us, go for walks because that's what we do - while people are dying, people are working, people are stuck halfway up a tower block on their own with two small children ... 

But 46 years ago we decided to exchange city life for life at the seaside, near the hills. There have been times I've regretted it - there is a lack of provision in areas that are important to me, and unless the two of us do the providing it tends not to happen (ok, I'm talking music/choir here) - but right now, who could possibly regret being able to walk along the shores of the Firth of Clyde, with a swan swimming to rendezvous with  its partner in the path of light thrown by a gleaming sun, so that the water glistens blindingly?

And for a while we could forget the pandemic, forget the irritations of social media - and enjoy the moment. Which brings me round to guilt ... again.