Melancholy day. Melancholy if you allowed it to be, if you allowed the sullen glob of sky, a heavy grey like substance squeezed from a tube, that is long past its expiry date, to penetrate and smother you with its dreary suffocating smear. And the fields around us have all transformed into brown lakes, the result of the deluge in the past few days and the poor bewildered cows, stand in the middle of them, forlorn and miserable, huddled together in a pathetic shapeless fashion, like pieces from a jigsaw puzzle that will never connect. I saw them as I drove out from town and wondered if it was cruel to leave them out there like that or if the cows felt anything at all. Surely they do. Life is strangely sad some days and like the jigsaw puzzle cows, people can appear that way too. It must be the weather that does it, that brings out the sadness in humanity, in life.
I took the dogs for a walk in the early morning because of a break in the rainfall. It felt good to be out of the house, away from the domestics and the concerns of living. The air clears the head and all I have to do is call the dogs and they come back to me and all I have to do is watch out for the puddles and all I have to do is say hello to the person walking toward me with her dog and stop and have a brief chat, about the weather. Otherwise, I don't have to say anything or think about anything in particular. Sometimes my mind strays back to the summer and the meadow behind the house or I might find myself thinking about my mother and how she battled her whole life through winters like this and never complained. I don't know why but that makes me sad. I think too about my dad in November, the November after my mother died and how incredibly long the days were for him. I think too that life is what you make it. That days like this are a part of life, a strangely necessary contrast that without it the canvas would be blank, the page lacking depth, the spirit void of introspection. These days one has to dig deep down into the hidden folds for something I am not quite sure of yet.
My youngest kissed me twice before he left the house this morning. I don't know if he will remember that or even if he meant to kiss me at all. His skin felt cool and soft against my face. I saw something different in his eyes, a tinge of wisdom that had not been there before. I wonder if he saw something different in mine. I have a feeling he did.