With my back to our home, the sea interprets the sound of you moving around the house.
Last time you were happy, the slate-grey sky hurled spray against the cliffs with hurricane-force cheerfulness, blowing away the weight that pressed on my shoulders.
I remember that day as I hear the muttered curse from the next room. Perhaps your phone is taking an extra couple of seconds to switch apps or perhaps I you had to look for your tea mug because I’ve yet to unload the dishwasher since I ran it last night.
I see your mood the brooding rage of the lone white cloud in the azure sky, glowering down at the yachts prowling the ominously flat sea. I feel it in the clench of my stomach muscles as I rack my brains for something I might say or do to divert the storm the sea is warning me will come but I know I may as well try to alter the mood of the ocean itself.