Breakup.

Whether of a friendship.

Or unrequited something other.

Not good.

Slept late and still caught the transition from dark to light, and what a dark it was this morning: clouds with a slash of dawn riven across them.

Opened the curtain, and the next thing: blue and bright, almost spring.

Not quite.

Late mid-afternoon: out in it.  Same park (ageing Holden’s, perhaps).  Falling temperatures; strong winds.

Home: the big glass of Catena Cabernet, a salad, roasted and seared lamb and hash browns out of a home-baked potato.

Not bad for a kind of early recovery.

Off the balcony: the blessing of a lively (windy, biting cold) sunset.