So pleasing in its way

What is the nub of such a plain grey day?
Does it have one? Does it have to have one?
If small is beautiful, is grey, is plain?
Or rather do we sense withdrawal, veiling,
a patch, a membrane, an eyelid hating light?
Does weather have some old remit to mock
the love of movement, colour, contrast –
primitives, all of us, that wilt and die
without some gorgeous dance or drizzle-dazzle.

Sit still, and take the stillness into you.
Think, if you will, about the absences –
sun, moon, stars, rain, wind, fog and snow.
Think nothing then, sweep them all away.
Look at the grey sky, houses of lead,
roads neither dark nor light, cars
neither washed nor unwashed, people
there, and there, decent, featureless,
what an ordinariness of business
the world can show, as if some level lever
had kept down art and fear and difference and love
this while, this moment, this day
so grey, so plain, so pleasing in its way!

Let’s leave the window, and write.
No need to wait for a fine blue
to break through. We must live, make do.

Grey by Edwin Morgan


A very grey and murky day and this looks like to continue for the foreseeable future.  The gloom was lightened by an enjoyable trip out to Rossbrin for lunch with Robert and Finola. They have very kindly lent us their Yeti, much bigger than our Micra so we can transport lads and Esme around much more easily. I stopped off at the estuary in Ballydehob on the way back, everything monochrome but pleasing in its way.
The news from across the water - Will has taken his brother to Glastonbury to get suitably vibed up!  They have been to the White Spring, climbed the Tor, lurked in the Goddess Centre, tried on silly hats and then gone in search of a murmuration of starlings somewhere in the Somerset Levels.  A good day in my book.
They arrive, plus a small one, tomorrow! Himself is duty driver. I would love to go and get emotional at the airport but I think the house needs to be warm and welcoming, and food ready for their arrival, so that's my job.