All morning there was rain. A drizzle at times and occasionally nothing. And then so hard you could hear it, with a slight cocking of the head confirming the downpour. But it all cleared up and we poloed some polo.
I’ll admit I’m not completely sold on having this flipped like this. It works in a way, albeit a different way than the unflipped. There’s all manner of emphasis on the flying underground cyclist as opposed to it being merely a reflection. There may well be less reflection on reflection if it were reoriented.
Sunday night feelings are inescapable, even without the procrastinated pile of homework that I’d endured for perhaps the majority of Sunday nights over the last 23 years. Probably not most, but at least a third. Hard to know.