Anatomy of Dark, Breezy Mornings

7:28am.
Sat on my bed with a cup of tea. The windows are open - the muted sound of a car, and of cars in the distance, though on reflection this might also be the sea. My fingers tapping on the keys.
The air is cool and autumnal - though given this is September, this would be a given. I remember a phrase a friend of mind, an Anglican priest, used about autumn; 'dark, breezy mornings'. What a brilliantly evocative phrase, redolent of radios turned down low to the news, of peaceful yellow light in a kitchen busy with things (if not people) and narrow windows showing the blue and mysterious light of school day dawns.
The view outside my window (in fact nor this room) is not anything similar to that image, but undeniably I can feel that mythical kitchen here.
The blue of the sky, behind the clouds, is deeper than summer, and the light in this room (or maybe the shadows) has a softened quality to it, like falling asleep or daydreaming.