A Soft Day


My grandmother, and mother would have called today ‘A Soft Day’ It’s been raining on and off all day, more of a drizzle than showers.  The wind has died down, the temperature has dropped but it is not cold.  The sun is hidden behind the low clouds.  If you listen carefully you can hear birds singing.  Not the vibrant songs of last week, just the calls to one another. A solitary cat walks into my garden, no longer looking for shade.

As a youngster on holiday in Ireland, we would often experience ‘A Soft Day’  I would spend the day sitting at the front door of my grandparents cottage, on the little step (my grandparents lived in identical cottages’ sometimes reading the latest Enid Blyton book I had purchased in Woolworths in Clonmel (paying the taxes that bumped up the price by 6d) as I had read all the books I had brought with me.  Or filling in countless notebooks with short stories about children who climbed over the dry stone walls and met up with Leprechauns, Banshees and Pookas.

It was on days like this I could let my imagination run wild!

Funnily enough, today I have found my self sitting in the shelter of the doorway to my house, as soft rain quietly falls around me, wondering what could be behind the moss covered stone wall – letting my imagination run and jump wildly in the air. Maybe I will go and have a look!

 

 

 

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