This was written as I reflected on an unusual weather event during my stay last summer in Nerja Andalusia,.
Nerja - foggy afternoon
Sun's fierce heat bleaches the promenade, high above the shore:
regal balcony from which to gaze with equal eye at the sea's horizon
keenly defined against the pale backdrop of midday sky.
Midsummer passers-by find respite in the avenue of noble palm trees
enlivened by parakeet chatter and glimpses of small silent butterflies.
Their shade reconciles visions of tranquil seascape
with the festive summer bustle of El Salvador plaza,
humming with the leisure of lunchtime table talk.
Shrieking swifts swirl above like clouds of dust
their conviviality curtailed by relentless need to feed upon the wing,
flirting hastily with spaces in between the giant fronds of leaves
granting them shade and shelter too.
Much movement, sound and colour diverts the mind.
The far horizon's gradual effacement goes unheeded.
Over the sea, taller than a steeple, rolls with stealth a wave of cloud.
It suddenly plunges the plaza into autumn mist and chill,
subduing conversation, astonishing birds and sun seekers alike.
Beaches empty, shivering devotees seek refuge
in warmer welcoming boutiques and hostelries.
Before it claims stark sierras enfolding the coastal plain,
this foretaste of a season still to come,
halts and hovers uncertainly before the sun's glare
in orchards, bamboo groves and parking lots
intersecting highways, arousing apprehension in travellers,
lapping the land – just as tide caresses shore – albeit silently.
This insubstantial wave recedes as swiftly as it came,
heralded only by the return of light and shade, warmth and colour
to the promenade, with sight of sky and swirling swifts
arousing fresh anticipation of social moments al paseo.
High summer still it is, after the drama of the day.