A strange night, with disturbing dreams, in one, a little black piglet that I have on a lead dies and falls in the mud. A profound sadness pervades the dream. This sets the tone for the day, I wake feeling tired at daybreak, around five, but manage to get back to sleep until eight. When I get up I still feel tired, but make a cooked breakfast, bacon, sausage, black pudding, two fried eggs and tomato. It tastes OK, but the sadness from the dream persists, after showering and dressing, drive into Beverley and eventually find somewhere to park on the Westwood, by Newbald Road. I walk into town across the common, the weather is cold and damp, it could easily be February, but the cattle are back and the unseasonal weather doesn't seem to bother them at all. Perhaps it's just the human condition, with our internal and external environments intersecting to set our moods. Generally speaking I prefer the sunshine, but realise that the weather changes, both external and internal.
After an hour or two poodling round town and the market, return home and decide not to run today, my body doesn't feel right, it wants to rest and so I let it. After lunch meditate, then sleep until it's time for Mass at 6:30, which always nourishes my spirit. When I get home, the clouds have lifted, and whilst it remains cold, there is a late evening sun, and my washing is dry.
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