I’ve often wondered if anywhere else has a weather forecast that people write poetry, stories, comedy and songs about.
The next stages will take me to the end of the Earth, twice, via the coast of death and I’m a bit apprehensive of what might be in store.
Heading back, the sky becomes a perfect light show of emerging colours and shapes, the whispy clouds taking the hues of the setting sun. A pink haze grows above the water and brings our the turquoise green of the briny foreground. A gentle gradient washes up to the blue sky which is punctured by the bright white speck of the moon. It’s a beautiful experience and grows in intensity until the surface of the water takes on a fiery orangey red set against the silhouette of houses poking up over the cliffs. It sit and drift in it for a while bobbing around, immersed in the spectacle.