It’s the type of day that can only be described at dreich. That marvellous Scottish word that perfectly evokes the damp, drab days that have little character beyond being rubbish. But there’s joy to be found in this too. The rain feels clean and gathers in the hidden nooks: my shoulders and elbows of my jacket lets the rain through first, but my hair and face are already covered in the fine droplets that make it so persistent.
The colours of the landscape are muted and beautiful in their calm. The orchids shine out against the grass, both highlighted with droplets glistening in the pale light. The air is still and the grass flower heads hang heavy with moisture. The delicate agrostis is plumes of rain, frozen in time.
Any spider webs that have survived the heavier showers are spun of silver, drops of moisture spread along the strands, creating mirrors of the world. The spiders themselves are tucked into sheltered spots, inside taps, crevices and tunnels, waiting the passing of the day and for their web to stop strumming with false messages.
And to look into the distance, the horizon has disappeared. In its place, the landscape peters out to merge with the sky, which is itself wholly expressionless: the clouds lie dense and thick, no change in tone or lightness, even the sun has not broken through. But still, as I say, there is beauty in the day. We do not always need (or want, surely) perfect sunshine: indeed, days like this, when the air lies heavy and low, are the days to ponder deep thoughts, to breathe and expand your lungs and to really feel the earth underneath your soul. It’s a pause, a respite, a moment of clarity. And the beauty is there to spin us all up in its spell.