Mute inglorious Miltons?

I didn't expect today to be lovely - the forecast wasn't particularly encouraging when I looked - but that's how it turned out, with the sun positively warm when you were out of the wind. Mind, I've just looked out while I was locking up and it felt really cold again - much colder than of late.  I had my now customary really lazy start to the day, after our late post-choir night, and really had little time to do anything between clearing breakfast and making coffee. One thing I did  achieve was to write another poem; it seems that mental anguish - in this case at the news, or lack of it suddenly - gnaws at my brain till I write something. I also read an interesting theological post on Facebook, by a friend of mine who's learned in such things, and enjoyed a helpful and encouraging exchange of texts with him as a result. 

Other than this, I had time to pop down to the pharmacy: an interesting chat with the pharmacist while I was collecting a prescription, about the inclusion of talc in just about every pill that passes one's lips, and the difficulty of finding talc-free pills for me (I seem to be allergic to talc: makes me cough and wheeze uncontrollably.) He phoned me when I was halfway along the street to tell me he'd found something, so it was all very ... engaged. 

In the afternoon we had a short rehearsal for Good Friday  of the Reproaches, set by Victoria - one of my absolute favourite pieces of choral music. We met the other singer in the church; I walked up and back again, enjoying the peace of the afternoon and the beauty of the church grounds, full of daffodils and robin song. I even sat on the new bench round the side of the church, enjoying a Thomas Gray moment  except that it was mid-afternoon and the place was filled with sunlight and felt warm. I pottered round among the graves, realising just how many of them mark where people I have known are buried and feeling fortunate - perhaps an odd response, but it was perfect. Interestingly, as I walked down the hill and rounded the bend at the steepest part the birdsong was drowned out by the noise of the burn below, the sun was blocked by the hill behind me and I could hear a car on the road. My mother used to quote Sunset Song about our church - "out of the world and into Blawearie" - she thought it was out of the world at Holy Trinity. 

The day ended with online Compline and a certain amount of collapse; It's been quite tiring one way and another and I'm ready for bed as midnight strikes. I think it'll be wet in the morning...