Friday the 13th

Friday 13th. So far, so good but many hours still to come. Fingers crossed and all that jazz.
No I'm joking, I'm not at all superstitious, but still one can't be too careful, just in case.

A beautifully sunny morning at 6am - still and quiet, with my cycle route lined with gardens ablaze with colour- rhododendrons, azaleas and clematis, vying with garden flowers, and verges of daisies and dandelions bordered with hedges of gorse and hawthorn.

At this early hour, the Meadows were devoid of people traffic and the expanse of grass as far as the eye could see was shot with ribbons of early sunlight glancing through the trees, with the sky a uniform pale blue to the west.

The roads were quiet too with only the odd car spoiling the silence, a few fellow cyclists and some runners passing by, but most of the time just me and the potholes. But I won't go there, I'll keep the potholes for another day.

Later as I returned, the clouds were gathering and a breeze had sprung up heralding another day of sunshine and showers.

Later still, on the car radio, his Lordship and I laughed when an announcer said that the weather in Scotland today was 'pretty dreich up north and half decent everywhere else'. Somehow that seemed such a Scottish way of putting things. Absolutely no frills.

Now as I write, the sunbathers and frisbee throwers are congregating, and I have lost the special relationship with the Meadows of my blip to the masses-- until tomorrow morning.