The ponies look up

Under a still light blue sky with gauzy grey clouds I turned briefly East across an undulating heath. Sparse with trees and empty of buildings this is an ideal spot to look far into the distance, to try to measure the Earth by her horizon.

Today dark shapes loomed. Cumulus, like an implacable herd, gathered South. Each head growing, the shoulders crowding in until they became the horizon itself.

Now night, their rain falls straight in wet-hair curtains. Scattered to soak the ground by gusts of wind torn off the Westerly Channel flow.