The other night I was achy and tired from several nights of poor sleep. My husband was out for the night. I picked up a book and a cardigan, poured a glass of chilled rose, shoved my feet into some shoes and walked out to sit by the harbour.
I watched night fall in stages like a keen stagehand was dimming the lights, bit by bit.The water rippled and scintillated hypnotically, its pattern broken by fast rowing boats pulled by crews straining at the oars.
There was a tapestry of sounds - a single cry from a seagull, swallows flitting and twittering after some final bugs, people laughing and chatting outside the pub, the padding strides and puffed breath of occasional runners...
My cashmere cardigan was warm and soft around my shoulders, the wine was sweet and mellow as I sipped, the book was excellent but I spent long moments just soaking up the scene around me.
I felt so lucky.