It is here again. As I look out at the forested hills in front of my hotel room at 6 in the morning, a white cloud-like mist has descended and formed a thick blanket over the hills. It feels cold and yet when I open the balcony doors and step out, it is warm and humid. It feels strange. The floor is wet. It must have rained last night. But the sky has exhausted its vapours, at least for now.
Yesterday was bright and sunny. Today promises more of the gloom of the week past. It will be wet day again. Hopefully, it will not bring back the floods. Only mother nature decides.
Today, I sail. It has been a week since I’ve been home. Not a long time, but the heart grows fonder each passing day. Strange, the ordinariness of home can attract such yearning. But back at my desk I am less anxious.
There will be more gatherings before the year is out. The eves of a birth and another milestone. More holiday than work.
Yet ten days and everything begins anew.
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