Waterlogged

Another day and the Lothians are still crying tears for the disaster in the east.
There seems no let up to the amount of water leaking from the sky on to a waterlogged world.

Even the seagulls encamped now for three days on the water logged Meadows look miserable.
Perhaps I'm wrong and they are having the feast of a lifetime on worms coming to the surface to avoid drowning, but they seem resigned to a life of tedium and dampness as they sit it out for some spring weather.
Just occasionally, they take off in a mass exit, only to reappear minutes later for another resettling.

The dogs too have decided to stay indoors today, with only the odd one walking disconsolately behind an owner engulfed in gumboots and cagoule. There is no joyful running after a thrown ball or chasing another of its pals while the owners clump together for a chat.

There is also a conspicuous dearth of students gracing the cafes and local minimarket, although there is still a never ending line of them remorselessly trudging over the paths to lectures, underdressed for the weather and under a myriad of brightly coloured umbrellas.

The umbrellas along with the bright tops of joggers, who never let weather put them off, serve to emphasise the gloomy, drookit appearance of the landscape, whilst I sit warm and dry behind glass thanking my lucky stars I don't have to go out into that misery.
Age has some compensations after all.