Mountain humour

This morning brought one of those rare daybreaks when I couldn’t see the mountain on the other side of the valley. Perfectly positioned in front of my bedroom window and with our shutters permanently open, it is one of the first things I see when I wake up. It is an omni-present feature in my life. No matter where I go, I can usually see it and if it is out of view, I look for it, unconsciously scanning the horizon, searching for something that resembles its distinctly rounded summit and vertical cliffs.

It acts as the barometer of my soul, intrinsically linked to my mood and dictating my temperament for the day to come, from the very moment I open my eyes. Depending on the season, I will see it outlined against a pearl white sky, or bathed in sunshine, or still silhouetted against a backdrop of stars. Sometimes it will be hidden by a magician under a gleaming hood of white mist, with the promise of a clear azure sky to come once he whips the cover away.

Uncharacteristically, this morning it looked as though it had been vacuum-packed into the heavens. Only the lower slopes were visible under the pewter clouds, the slate grey contrasting vividly with Autumn’s russets and golds. On mornings like this, I feel as though I have been cheated out of my private stage show and I can sense my usual good humour dissolve in the time it takes me to open my eyes.

I guess what I’m trying to say, is that today it is raining and it’s not very often that happens.

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