Languid Light

Drizzle faded to mizzle as I drove further West, the weekly walk and talk at Millom my destination. 
Only three of the regulars set forth, bereavement, a collapsing knee and an overly ambitious Park Run having rendered the others temporarily unkeen.

It was warm in the odd way of totally still air and as we walked we passed through clouds of insects emerging, and could hear curlews calling, omens of the changing of the meteorological season.

Later a good deed on the way home and then, unexpectedly, a snooze ambushed me on the couch. Woke up with Missy led across my shoulders like some sort of parrot impersonator.