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It has been overcast here for the past couple of days. The sort of overcast that starts early in the morning, when the clouds have fallen down to rest on the river and then blow forth onto land, providing a massive hide-and-go-seek playing field for the Mourning Doves, their cries haunting as they sail, unseen, through the peaceful dawn.
Despite the perfect start to the days, the past few have been stressful. End-of-term-work has passed in a flurry of testing sheets and No. 2s, oral language tests and portfolios speeding by so fast that they whistle like my birds’ feathers as they prepare to take flight. But at long last, it is Friday evening, and it’s my turn to fly. I’m free of the city. Für Elise is playing. There’s the promise of more rain on the Vineyard, but it will be heavy with the scent of roses and strawberries, and the skies leaden with kites painting the cumulus clouds with broad strokes, bright colors and sharp turns.
Le banquet picks up where Ludwig left off, and I want to dance. The rain takes a momentary pause.
