The last rays of the boiling sun, sinking below the horizon.
No place for it in the sky filled with roiling, boiling clouds.
The slight breeze picking up to form a solidness to the hitherto lacklustre fluff in the sky.
Herding them like a dog would his sheep.
Pacing them across the sky until enough energy has built up.
The sun-bright day waning into the slightly sinister grey of the impending storm.
Slight relief from the heat given by the wind blowing.
Cooling the sweat on your brow.
Curtains billowing from the gusts, leaves rustling in the trees.
The wind smells of water.
Of the impending storm…
©All pictures and text 68ghia 2013