The view from my window.
Mostly, I work from home, my spare room turned into an office-sofabed space, with lots of books and geekery.
My window looks out over the garden, and for a London garden, it's pretty big. What I like about it is that it's moderately unkempt: my downstairs neighbour mows the lawn and looks after it, but it's not manicured or chichi, it's just outsideness.
I derive a lot of pleasure - sustenance - from looking at my garden. And my neighbour just planted some pink flowers under my window, and they make me happy.
The last couple of weeks, I've noticed that the sky is a bluer-than-blue colour. The blue of the Windows 98 screensaver, with perfect white clouds, and the greens and browns and reds and oranges of almost-autumn starting to happen (global warming permitting).
But there's this one thing: for the last two weeks, there's this one, perfect, grey cloud sitting atop the roof of the people at the end of the garden.
And I think what it's saying to me, this cloud, is that everything will be ok, there might just always be this one grey cloud on a sunny day. Life isn't perfect.
I think I may have lost my mojo.
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