You are the Scottish weather.
Gentle and atmospheric, easy to love. There’s a softness to you, a blurriness in the outlines you try so hard to define.
In your subtlety lies beauty.
You demand I wrap myself in layers, never to trust the wind as it tosses me from side to side across the starless sky. When all is still you fold me through your midst and sink away.
Winter light has always been your best. You shine from within, lighting the world with muted hues. You have shown me the constant and unassuming joy of raindrops.
It is not uncommon to find snow fall on the cherry blossoms.
In the madness, and the magic, I have tipped the spring and grown weary. A thousand years could pass and still I would find myself consumed, longing for the light and warmth of summer.
In the quest for brighter days it is my expectation that needs adjusting.
Scottish weather is best left to be.