The blue sky, this bright, crisp winter day, is padded with small, white clouds and criss-crossed with vapour trails - a busy sky.
I cut a bay leaf and a few sprigs of thyme. They will flavour the sauce that will accompany our supper of pigeon breasts, mashed potatoes and cabbage.
I am much attracted to the Portuguese word saudade, which, a translator called A F G Bell, describes as " a vague and constant desire for something other than the present, a turning towards the past or towards the future; not an active discontent or poignant sadness but an indolent, dreaming wistfulness".
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