Driving to work, I feel the firmness of the wheel beneath my fingers. My foot keeps a steady pressure on the gas. I’m driving along narrow country lanes, quiet with occasional, sudden hazards of animals and tractors and oil tankers filling the road. You can’t afford to go too fast. You can’t afford not to pay attention.

The morning is tempting me otherwise. The morning is all pastel streaks, the cloud shifting and moving, throwing mauves, gold, purples across the Galloway sky. The sky is filling me. I feel the sky. Continue reading