As the sun gets lower in the winter sky, the plants in our flat receive more light, and today they seem to be basking in it. The flat almost feels like a greenhouse with fronds and stems poking out of all corners. One of our bushy plants is even growing a new orange flower from between two leaves.

A finger of dust reaches from Tunis to the Balearic Sea, another from Misrata into the Mediterranean. During the satellite pass, a group of dog walkers notices me and my antenna, and while they stay on the far side of the field, I overhear the older woman in the group tell the others - 'yes yes... she does the weather'. Later, as I await the phone call of a doctor, the passing of the light feels slow and sluggish. I bury myself in email hoping to move it along.