|(Don't like heights, but that is me on the big rock.)|
There's not an inconsequential cloud here. They are things of marvellous substance. Sunlight blares between. Such loud weather. It calls us to the moors, to seek a good walk and a vantage point.
Once I saw the glow-edge of the Northern Lights: the sky was shaded purple: it quite surprised my eyes. From the top of Feather Tor, in the unnerving tug of wind, the shades of this heaven are not unexpected, yet hold that thrill.
After deeds of mild daring and a vanilla cone, we drive slowly home in phenomenal torrents.