No one, but no one, is on the road this morning. I cycle up the long rise away from the coast accompanied by larks above the meadows and bees in the hedgerows.
A running hare skids to a halt in a shower of grit and dust as I come round a bend into its path. It casually picks a way through the alexander plants crowding the verge and disappears.
My son has elected to take a night shift to help his colleagues manage the workload better.
You and I talk of possible tomorrows, without ignoring the probability of more todays.