Late November Sunday

It seemed to confirm Kurt Vonnegut’s notion that there are six seasons rather than four, and November falls into the one he called Locking. There was mist lying low to the west of Glasgow all day, although one could still see Ben Lomond to the north. The Canal has already frozen. The sky was full of white clouds with only a few wee patches of blue, and with no wind either, it was as quiet a Sunday as any Presbyterian might wish for. A locking season indeed.

Maybe I have been pushing some things too hard recently. But the result is than now I have some leeway, and can go on placidly. Tomorrow the dentist, on Tuesday the windows, on Wednesday new glasses, on Thursday what will presumably be my last shift this year . . . and then the flat’s renovation. Knowing I’ll surely manage more than I’d expected even a month ago, so it’ll still be all right if I manage less than I’m planning the now.

Even when you are locking some things up, you can be starting other ones.

 

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