In the gathering tobacco-coloured morning a song thrush pours forth its morning hymn and allows me to lose myself listening nearby for five minutes. A bank of clouds crests over the Lockleaze new builds, punctuated by an abrupt rainbow tower before breaking into the gentle blue out towards the M4 to Bath and over the hills across the country to London.

The weather fisheyes around me as if I am looking out from a snowless snow globe, an astonishing array of cloud structures and light effects that lasts the whole of my walk and feels like a steadily unfolding blessing. The dog’s behaviour is impeccable as if she knows there’s a vibe here and doesn’t want to be the one to unvibe it.

At the end of the walk I pass a man I regularly see but have never spoken to. He reminds me of one of my dad’s old friends. Our dogs sniff each other. “What a lovely day” I say, thinking of the string of less enticing weather days we have had recently, and he replies “I love all these different days” which in the moment is the most perfect thing I could have heard and I am so thankful for his simple, powerful articulation of gratitude for the gift of days.