There is a faint mist blowing across the field. Rain is falling in soft drizzle, you can see it moving around with the wind, it’s the kind of rain that soaks you through without you realising until it is too late. I am sitting looking at the sea through the window. There are sounds of humpback whales playing on Radio 4. Despite the wind there are men in bright yellow jackets working on a roof nearby. The combination of mist and raindrops on the window obscures the tops of the hills along the coastlines. A graduated grey from the top of the hills blends right into the sky so you cannot tell where one ends and the other begins. There is no horizon and the sea and the sky are the same colour. Nothing moves except for the tall branches of the hedges that surround the house. The dog sleeps under the table by my feet, she has no desire to go out, not yet. Suddenly two magpies fly up from the garden. They are gone before you can blink. A boy in a baseball cap and open jacket walks past the window. He seems oblivious to the weather, or just used to it, maybe? More birds appear, hovering against the wind, tail feathers twitching for balance, waiting for a space on wires stretched between poles. It brightens as the sun shows itself and reveals dark clouds trying to cover the blue sky behind them and in parts failing. The sea colours from dark near black to silver, in between there are all shades of blue and grey. The mist rolls in, backlit by the sun trying to force its’ light through gaps in grey dark clouds that promise rain for someone, somewhere, sometime. A helicopter circles above the sea and two crows fly out as if to meet it. And all the mist has gone.