Everything passes ...

When I was a small child and moaning about some misery, perceived or real, my father would say "Everything passes - misery, joy, everything." And today, as a morning walk (to avoid the people that a hot, sunny Saturday afternoon fills with the impulse to sit in their air-conditioned motor and go for a drive down ever-decreasing roads like that along Loch Striven, only to turn at the end and drive back again when they'd looked for a bit ...) took us to halfway up Loch Striven, I was thinking about this.

We were having a glorious walk. We'd seen several heron, heard silence and heard birdsong, and it was still quiet. And deep inside me, there was a wee voice starting up to tell me that this was a good way to pass the day. Pass the day. What a ridiculous way to live - especially when you don't know when you're going to shuffle off this mortal coil but suspect most of your life is behind you. But it's a habit we're all falling into.

I've blipped this view before, but I love it, and the clouds that bubbled out were interesting and looked benign. This is one of my favourite places for a walk, and we've not been there since the lockdown began. I realised that was 11 weeks - again - and recognised that we shall perhaps all have fallen into the trap that Philip Larkin mentions: "Till then", we say, living as we do in our three-week units and hoping the next will bring us a change for the better. 

And now my bird clock has the owl hooting at me and I'm so tired my eyes are closing. I must save this before I lose my ramblings. I'll try to be earlier tomorrow ...