Clouds on the Horizon
and the Maloja Snake
For nigh on two weeks a gloom has hung over our house, both literal and metaphorical. Shortly after our return from northern France, B. went down with Covid, and is still recovering. In solidarity I succumbed too, albeit less severely. As if in sympathy the clouds descended, and day after day has been filled with grey skies and gloom . But who are we to grumble? All over Europe towns and villages have been devastated by weather systems Babet and Ciaran, and lives have been lost. Now storm Domingos threatens. But surely, with so much rain around, our water restrictions must have been lifted. Alas no! Whilst we may well have expected heavy rain, like much of France , the endless grey clouds have brought nothing but drizzle. Our drought alert has been downgraded, but only from 'Crise' (or Crisis Level 3) to Alert Renforcéé, Level 2. What's more La Primelle stream remains resolutely bone dry.
November 2023 and still dry
But today the wind has got up and strong rafales(gusts) have ripped branches from the plane trees which lie scattered along the road. But, in spite of the unaccustomed chill ,the solid cloud cover has been broken up and large puffs of billowing cloud chase across an azure blue sky. It would be churlish of me to complain about the endless days of blue sky that we enjoy here in the midi, but this day of cloud is a thing of beauty. I love to watch the clouds changing shape as they drift across the sky, and the interplay of light amongst the grey and silver.
As evening approaches, the clouds darken, and the light beneath seems to become more intense.
And then, as the sun sets, we gaze towards the western mountains to watch the sunset. No two nights is it ever the same, but I guarantee it will always be spectacular, be it coloured in silver and grey, or brilliant pinks and orange.
An earlier sunset.