Stupid

Last night, a peculiar wakefulness. Body-tired, but unable to sleep until well after dawn. Such dawn as it was, anyway: the sky is grey as limestone rock, the wind smells like autumn, and everywhere is sodden underfoot. Eleven degrees Celsius, and I'd be tempted to turn the heating on but for the fact I have plenty of wool jumpers.

(Summer? What summer?)

Not waking properly until near 1400 does not give me joy.