After a grey and damp Spring, Summer broke out today in the heartlands of England. A warm sun in an almost cloudless sky, with a gentle breeze making lunch in a beer garden a joyful experience.
I'm now sitting at my PC and the Sycamore tree in the front garden is lit by the setting sun.
During the winter months this Sycamore tree sits bare and unatractive; a mess of twisted snaggly branches highlighting the gloom of rain and snow. In Spring it flowers; insipid pale-green blossom that drips goop allover the paintwork on my car. It then produces crappy little brown buds that look like the failed sulphur-heads on cheap matches.
I'm sure the buds have been opening over the last week or so, but today, backlit by a golden, setting sun, it seems to have magically clothed itself in luscious leaves; bright green and as fresh as a new-born baby's skin.
All rather reassuring really.
Carry on.