It is raining today. It has been pouring more or less constantly since I woke to the sound of it above my head, at 7 this morning.
It is unusual for it to rain so persisently, here -- Cambridge is a dry place, and the rain comes packaged into little storms accompanied by a sudden bloom of umbrellas, patiently waiting at the bottom of handbags and strapped to briefcases, and then as suddenly gone again leaving puddles between the cobbles and ducks in places they oughtn't to be.
On the way home through King's, umbrella in the left, Sainsbury's bag in the right and handbag awkwardly shouldered, I watched a wet blackbird fledgling harrass its mother. Or perhaps not its mother, from the could-I-care look on her face as she hopped resolutely out of the way of the quivering, not-quite-there-yet wing feathers. Peep! Peeep peep!
I thought the fledgling and I had a lot in common. Not quite there yet. Resolute and stubborn and wet and begging and studiously ignoring the need to go off and be an adult.
I guess at least I had an umbrella. I was dry when I got home. Dry on the outside, that is.