Perennially discontented

Tuesday, March 10th., Cadogan Square, London.

It feels so cold here, and grey, and I feel gloomy.

To think that only a few days ago, at this same time, I was strolling about, shirt-sleeved, with a light jacket slung casually over one shoulder, savouring the warm evening air and the sound of the sea. Was it a dream? Why did I return? When may I go back? Ah, well ... I know that this ennui will pass and I will settle to my work once more, and feel contented. Strange to say that before I set off to come home I felt myself ready to return and was positively looking forward to being surrounded by the old familiar things. I had grown tired, or so I thought, of the unbroken blue of the sky and hoped for a few (just a few!) scattered clouds. 

The message is there of course which has been stated so often that it should not surprise me: humans are, by nature it seems, perennially discontented creatures. Speaking only for myself I find that an act of will is wholly insufficient to alter my mood. Only time will make the change. In the meantime the most I can hope for is not to inflict my gloomy sentiments onto others. Solitary walking is the answer. I shall go out where the darkness sets me free.