These last few weeks it feels as if the rain has seeped into my soul. Everything is grey. 

What will we do with such a gloomy day, Mama?’

Good question. That’s a very good question when it takes all my willpower to even get dressed right now. 

Sleep has been eluding me lately. I lay under an open window listening to the soft sound of the rain continuing its descent and my mind won’t shut off. My husband is warm and solid next to me, lost within his own dreamlands. When sleep finally finds me, clutching me in its spindly, cold fingers,  my dreams are gritty and unvarnished. I wake, with the faces of people I have long forgotten the names of in my thoughts. I am nervous and jumpy. The destruction of my usual calm leaves me unsettled. 

I get like this from time to time, and it seems not to matter how many hours I sleep, I wake feeling as if I have not slept at all. I look out of the window to yet more rain and I briefly try to figure out what day it is. But the grey remains. 

I’m looking for colour, desperately searching a bleak landscape for something that smacks of life. The trees, usually so resplendent in their varying shades of green, look bleak and lonely. The sky is leaden, white in places, yet not a single spot of colour seeping in at the edges. The puddles gather, their darkness swelling as the day continues. 

Yet underneath the grey is life, still spinning its web. Literally. Metaphorically. Life goes on. We just have to keep looking. 

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