Typical Irish Weather

I can't see the sky for all the grey overcast clouds that have gathered there. The grey is like that of smudged pencil on paper, patchy and messy but somehow artistic.

Silhouetted against the paper clouds are the still bare branches of trees, reaching toward the heavens in search of the salvation of the sun. The view from the window a mess of branches, the scribblings and doodles on the paper.

Those trees that have dared to release their leaves before the summer sun stand out brave against the bleak backdrop. Their green leaves the only hint of colour in the garden, mixed with the pure white blossoms on the apple tree. Someone has splashed a watercolour green on the paper.

The temperature is that mild comfortable sort, where you need fluffy socks but could put away your big fleecy hoodies, a long sleeved t-shirt will suffice.

Outside the light is sufficient, you could say it was dark due to cloud cover, but not because the turning of the earth will soon plunge your town into the darkness of night. The same can be said for the sofa that faces the window, but the rest of the house is getting dark. You would need to turn the light on on the opposite side of the room, but sat by the window you could read a book by natural light.

A slight breeze sways the green leaves of the nearest tree, hypnotically.