It's Sunday, and there are gale force winds from the east - that means cold! Brrrr.

It's Sunday - the Biblical day of rest. For some perhaps. It's usually a busy day for me - everyone (myself included, so I'm not complaining!) expecting a huge roast dinner. Then there's washing to sort, the ironing, all the usual stuff. Plus last minute homework (should've been done days ago) - 'Help me please mum'; and an enormous Sunday paper with umpteen sections strewn across the coffee table to sit there, mostly unread, until next Saturday.

Looking out the window - nothing's resting outside either. Flocks of birds fly erratically against the wind - 'Why go that way?', I wonder. It crosses my mind for a moment that they might be swallows beginning their migration, but they fly south not east, and, I'm not sure, but I think they should've gone by now. Barely turned leaves and ripe fruits fight to hold onto their branches a little longer.

Then up from the shrubbery, a red admiral butterfly, looking overlarge and awkward as it flaps its wings - also heading into the wind, heading east. Struggling.

Why do we make life unnecessarily difficult for ourselves? How good it would be to soar above it all and go just where the wind takes us.