Missing Frisbee

Dark nights here now and it hasn't stopped raining in days. The sun, wherever it is behind acres of uniformly bland grey / black cloud, is in a foreign country altogether and the walks with the magic dog, her brown tricolour looking like caramel, are a grim affair. The ground squelches and the clay heaves. Moving at least a little, although it doesn't bother budging itself much for these city feet. Splashing in who knows what, scampering amidst the gloom, I'm gonna have to towel you down later so I hope its not brown and smelly. How I miss the late summer evenings of your first walks, all sun bleached sky and swarms of insects amongst the overhanging trees and big sky across to scotland. And frisbee, soaring, gliding and damn, careering off at unintended angles, and just a few times the magic throw, on the mark, on the money, perfect wrist and not too much power, straight as a dye and you chasing after it. Frisbee evenings are a long time coming...