The gentlest of rain on the oldest of pebbles on that most misty of mornings. A Saturday, a thermos of coffee and damp. Damp, damp, damp. But secure in a ‘proof’ and secure in a thought or two. A dog observed as a stick is thrown and a walker steps out along that shore. Both free for the time-being. Elsewhere, anxiety for the fete: stalls ready, cakes unwrapped and children restless in a world dominated by the addictive electron. Moods change, thoughts come and go but rain is always right. Decide your destiny, select your freedom and abandon your fate.