Fluffy, white clouds

Listening to Jeff Beal, Kerry Muzzey and Ludovico Einaudi guarantees a mindful influence. To add to the experience, the atmosphere has dried out. The grey skies and humidity have gone. Instead there are fluffy white clouds. The high pressure lends to elevation and fantasy. My skin feels fresh; my vision is acute; the landscape broadens and invites inspiration. As the molecules evaporate, the weight disappears - the burdens, the anxieties, the restraints. I can see in the distance.

Most importantly, there is a distance. The obstruction is gone. There is no need to formulate reasons and agenda. The pleasantness speaks as naturally and as zealously as any ardour. Whispers of thoughts cross my mind. It's almost like boasting to relish the view.  Months and years it took to quell the insinuating reserves, like grasping onto the side of a rollicking fisherman's boat in the sea, until the storm passed, the skies cleared and the sea became a plate of comfortable travel.

What measure can compete with the billowing shears of a warm afternoon in June? Counting the collection of things is by now repetitive, at best re-collection. The higher ambition arises in sight. Is the farmhouse a spiritual symbol? Can we ever see on the other side of the mountain?

My dietary habit resembles that of a dog, the same thing day after day. Never feed him sugar! My object is simplicity and purification.  No more garlic! And fibre!  Oh my! Yes, fibre, fibre, fibre! And, yes, I do still need a sweet. It's mixed raw nuts and honey.  Admittedly the veggies are ornamented with fresh fruit - ideally Golden Berries and Sumo citrus .  Salmon filets and fatty, ground beef  - with occasional aged cheddar cheese - they're the protein.

For some incredible reason today I found myself repeating the refrain of a nonsense song I remember singing as a child, when I was about ten years old. Hours later I am now unable to recall either the tune or any of the words! The closest I can get to recapturing the ancient riddle is Gilbert & Sullivan's "When I was a lad I served a term as office boy to an attorney's firm..." or Shakespeare's "The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king", neither of which is correct or accurate. Who needs nefarious combustibles to have a good time! It's been that kind of exotic day, my head in the clouds!