It all feels so fine.

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I’ve just been woken in the early hours by a low, long blast of a foghorn floating up from the harbour and in through my bedroom window. It’s raining outside, and along with the sounds of the harbour the smell of the wetted earth is invading the privacy of my boudoir and it gladdens and quickens my little heart. This is why I like to sleep with the window wide to the world, ready to receive whatever the night blows my way. The pooling and trickling of rain water, the clunk and drag of chains, the chill and swirl of night air; honeysuckle, seaweed and camphor. I might put on a hat and sneak out with whiskey to sit in the rain on the bench under the pine tree and just marinate.