Towering cumulus were cut through by a horizon that pinked their towering blooms at the edges like in old style tourist posters that promise sun tomorrow. The sun broke through in just a few places, slanted down great girders of light to spot the sea like patches mark a horse's back. And West of here, a strange green shade like the pastel colours seen in films of the Northern Lights, muffled the swell out where clouds hung low.
I was walking home in not quite enough clothes and my eyes were gobbling it all up and trying not to cry in the wind. Not enough time outdoors. The cabin fever is getting to me.
I came home, switched the radio on to hear by chance something wonderful I'd not played for many years. Memories fell into image drift as I stewed blackberries harvested last Autumn. They inked my fingers with purple stains.