Across the western horizon Orion strides, large in the darkness. My head hurts and feels fogged in a web of confusion. Today I have walked on the path of pilgrims, past the pilgrim's cross at Nevern. I have walked on the beach with the tide out while the dogs ran wild. I have walked up the cliff path to the white waymarker at Porthgain and watched as Tom and the crew of the Kathryn Rose pulled away from the shore and across the blue bay. Swallows flew over cliffs, swift. There must always be a little time left at the end of the day to read, and tonight I read Cyrano by Geraldine McGaughrean.
My thoughts are very like the swallows, gathering for summer.