Storm at RoussillonSuddenly stair-rod rain cametipping through the gauze of heat that had trapped the scorched air like a parasol. Just walking had been difficult, shirts wet and salt-stained; now slicks of red and orange ochres stymied attempts to run; fearsome chains of lightning cracked the clouds, quarried cliffs seemed melting gaudy crayons in an earthen pot. Nobody would have been surprised to meet apprentice Mickey running with a bucket, casting huge shadows on the liquid walls; but then he's working not too far from Paris.
To remove flicker, press Stop button at top of page Photo ©2001 La Cassouliere URL: www.mourne.org/ochre.htm |
