Today I woke up to the sun shining, golden and low, reflecting the river rippling onto the wall behind my bed.

Then, after warm water, the cat and I walked to the yoga hut, through the drizzle, past the trees we cut, waiting to be firewood and charcoal to make light for the fruit to grow.

The river was high and fast, coffee flavoured caramel, swirling as I stretched and he twitched his ears at things too small for me to catch.

Returning, we turn and watch the deluge start, hard, heavy, thumping on the faded green recycling box.

Then, having breakfast it snows, inch wide butterflies of white, first in family groups and then in flocks, settle can cover the bird seed I have put  out.

Son and I wait then walk the long way to the village shop, the wind has dropped, the snow is sludge the sky still shades of grey.  He slops and slides, balancing on cattle grids curdled with whey.

Shopping stored I sit and read on the back step, on an old yoga mat for the ground is wet, but the sun is out and I am drawn to its soft touch, starved of it.

I will write, I think, of how change really is the only permanent thing. I have read, thought and written this many times and I feel it rising again.  It  helps me remember too how quickly anger, sadness, joy, peace and fear pass over us, each with their own weather system, never still, never staying.

I bring my computer outside to the garden table, damp, with paint peeling and start to write,

then the rain falls and I smile

at nature’s wry humour

as she prods me back inside.