Across the pond

Awoke just after 7 AM and drew back the curtains. And gasped. The night was still black but there was narrow band of deepest red stretching across the bottom of the horizon. The lights of Portland Bill were just visible but otherwise all blackness.

By the time I had taken my cup of tea to the study, the day had arrived. The rooftops were clearly visible and the sky above now showed a broad band painted with a mix of pinks and light blues and yellows. Clearly, God if he exists is a dab hand with the paint brush.

In came little Dulcie, disturbing my philosophical ramblings. ‘What colour is that?’, I asked. ‘Yellow’, she replied, and when I looked doubtful, she added, ‘And pink’. And then, ‘Have you seen my blanket.’ ‘It’s on that chair’, I said. ‘Don’t be silly. That’s my jumper.’

She went out to look elsewhere. And suddenly the whole sky was awash with colour. Making me frustrated at being a mere scribbler with no talent at all with a paint brush. My video camera is still unpacked. My still camera is back in London. I grabbed my mobile phone, and fumbled with the controls. It was asking me to send a message, resize the picture and do all sorts of other things. Finally I managed to get it to take a picture.

Here it is. Is it worth more than a thousand words?