August 9th – But later, I had to go to Telford, and whilst the air of melancholy remained, I couldn’t remain miserable. The weather was heavy, but there was beauty in it, even in the doomed footbridge at Telford Station, which despite it’s faults was a lot drier than the New Street Station I’d come through earlier.

Berries and apples glistened with raindrops. Water dripped from leaf and roof. It was quiet, but softly musical.

The rain doesn’t care for my despair.

However bad the weather, life must go on. And so it it does.