What an absolutely dreadful day Sunday was. The day sees me sat here looking on a scene of utter damp and grayness. I can’t believe it is the longest day of the year today. I put on the heating to further the illusion that it is warmer than I think but it is not helping. I think the temperature is more akin to March than now.

The morning comes amid grey skies and wet earth, no trumpets or sunbeam to herald its birth. But as the hours shall pass, the dove that coos gently tells of hope. Its song is of beauty and friendship and joy for the day is ours.

Hopefully the wind shall turn soon and breathe upon us from the south to warm chills and carry aromas of faraway lands which one day we shall journey and tell stories under stars that hang in different skies. Yet the story shall never change for it has only one ending and that is our love and friendship. How many foreign skies and different stars we shall tell it under? I know not, yet the meaning shall never change.