Before the Rain

What started as a calm, misty November morning has turned into a dreich, dark, wet November afternoon with the light,such as it was, fading by 3:30.
I was lucky to catch the trees before the rain; they are beautiful here but I can imagine that they are extra specially colourful in a large wooded area, perhaps in Perthshire.

There was a bit of listening to the Andrew Marr show before I headed out to meet up with a Merry Widow and Porty daughter whom I conveniently thought of as being in my bubble. Few people are exactly sure what constitutes a bubble. I think we make it up to suit ourselves.

I was ready to don the baffies when I got a text saying that my online order of tartan pj’s were in M&S. I felt obliged to walk down and pick them up so that I could swan about in them this evening after the blinds are drawn against the wintry look outside.

The input of energy from the walk galvanised me into making a pot of squash and apple soup and a tray of chocolate muffins. Time to take my batteries out, get into those pyjamas and put my feet up, I think.

Remembering as I do every year on Armistice Day, my uncle who died of his wounds at the Somme aged just 18, and my grandmother who had to live with the death of her firstborn and only son, for the rest of her life.