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By the River

24 May

I looked across the river, towards the railway bridge a mile away. The sky seemed to emanate a special kind of beauty: the gentle beauty of heavily clouded days, with chinks of colour shining through.

Seemingly of their own accord, my eyes turned to the water, and instantly I gazed upon the wondrous reflections of the sky, especially those cheery shimmers of blue that mingled amongst the grey.

I turned away, taking in the trees: the tall gums, the petal-free Christmas bush. A flock of white cockatoos swooped, finally landing on a distant shore.

The skies are grey, but life is good.

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