It was a bleak and cloudy afternoon. 'Nebuloso' they say in Portuguese. I walked across the old pasture, crushing curry plants and chamomile with each step. Nebulous. Hmmm. My mind drifted into that billowy sky for a while.
It was getting late when the clouds broke up and lo! The sun blazed through like a holy torch, its moted rays gilding all it touched. Breath-taking, this vision of an every day occurrence. Such timing!
A buzzard hovered over the ripening wheat field, its wings caught in the golden light.
Then the wind blew more black clouds over the bank of hills in the west. They moved over me, huge, violet, pink-frilled and gold-lined, like some fantastic Victorian lingerie.
The sun was gone.
The light became flat, opaque, and the buzzard swerved off towards the cork oak forest and merged. It, too, was gone.
I felt the cold wind cut through my thin clothes as I turned back, knowing that the night, like a cold wet slab, would soon follow.
(Nebulous, cut, timing, hover, opaque, torch, bleak, vision, touch, crush, blazing, slab, breath)