The remains of the wind hurry through the morning. Trees bristle angrily, air currents brush past deep in conversations that they guard jealously.
There is sun in the sky - clear blue escaping from the mumbling of clouds overhead. Purple spreads across the sky, as if foreboding, and there is drama in the air today.
The sense that an alien has landed, or a creature has broken through from another dimension creeps over me as I head towards the station, and once again everything is transformed as my mind shifts reality the six degrees to change my perception.
The warmth of summer surfs on the breeze, while the cracks of summer in the clouds suggest the world has fractured ready to let in new and dangerous forces - a sea change perhaps; and I find all this speculation, well, delightful.
It's not that I haven't enjoyed the good weather; more that the contrast serves to accentuate it's purpose, while today's tension gives something new, something that stirs my inner whimsy to suppose 'what if' and 'maybe', so that train tunnels enter new worlds, bridges traverse implacable chasms and the end of the line is a new adventure.
Maybe it's returning from a holiday, maybe a new idea is building, but as the tension in the shoulders releases my eyes are happier to lead me up the garden path, or better yet, into the secret garden that has no discernible path, and so no prescription as to how it will grow.
And now summer seeks to reassert itself with bursts of light, and there are renaissance moments where the earth meets heaven and they look each other square in the eye and take away something of the other; some sort of cosmic reassurance if you will?
The day is set up for its balmy summer and I stretch ready to relax into its embrace, and yet the wind creeps around the edges, it remains, ready to change the game whenever it tires of the rules.