A Matter Of Time

Time spent in my cousin's Mews/flat in Greystones, which has become something of a ritual: time for the consuming of a great bowl of curry, the watching of True Detectives, the pleasant sleep, the coffee & toast followed by a jog in pelting rain along the mostly abandoned sea road passing other gayly-coloured middleaged joggers going the other way, stretched periods of glancing out the window time to see what the rain is up to, Facebooked or web-articles time, and finally short stroll on the beach time (cousin a bit creaky, coming down with one of the spoilt-for-choice bugs doing the rounds), a clatter of far-too-busy gulls and crows excited by something near the flopping waves, in contrast to the sleepy woodlouse-grey clouds on the horizon, each promenading its little blur of rain.