A LATE SPRING DAY

We just went for a walk in the park.

Why is it that when you say hello to a dog, the owner apologises? Bit harsh on the dog, I think. Maybe not everybody likes it.

It’s a beautiful late spring day. There’s just enough breeze to hold back the scorch of the sun, and it ripples its way through the trees, flicking the leaves so that they look silver. The air’s warm like a comfortable blanket, and the clouds hang lazily, too slow to move from the view of green and gold below. I know the feeling.

I’ve been low recently. Chemical maybe, circumstantial perhaps, but low either way - depressed, as one person was inclined to say, hopeless and inadequate as I’m inclined to admit. I can’t exactly tell you why or how my brain has led me to conclude it, or what triggered it, just that there is so much going on in my head and my heart, it seems likely that the part of me that looks on the bright side has just… run out of fuel.

So days like today are good. Getting into Brain of Britain is good. Sunshine, green grass and blue sky are all good. Dogs that come to say hello to you are wonderful - and I always get the impression that if they could talk… they would make be the best therapists. Don’t apologise for them.

Speaking of which, I will almost certainly get some therapy. I’m far from ashamed of it; I think it should be for everyone! It’s not an admission of weakness, it’s a revelation of humanity and wanting to be a better person. I’m all for that.

How come I never noticed the beauty of a May day when I was young? Did exams wreck the whole thing? Did I just sail through those summery days unaware of the unique beauty outside the window, too concerned about French and Algebra and Thermodynamics?

Well. There it is. And long may we walk in it.