Think of it as a good sign: nothing to write about day after day apart from weather, flora and fauna, and your children’s charming feats. Nothing but the dull hum of daily life for the humble bureaucrat and his family.
This morning: daffodils bathed in sunlight breaking through the thick conifer trunks. The sun itself unlookable. Its light captured among the flowers and translated into that saturated yellow that human eyes adore.
Late afternoon: into the park via the one gate not yet locked. A vision of the sun — enormous silent molten-bronze thing glowing through the trees. A sun you could look squarely in the eye. You lolloped across muddy castle grounds to the river and onto the footbridge to gain a vantage. By then it had gone, vanished into a horizon haze or sunk behind the three-storey rooftops of Pontcanna.
two anchored swans graze