The tantalising chimeral veil (see yesterday's post) is swept aside, with a flourish. To reveal an infinity of greens, beyond the breakwater. The mysterious mauves of the High Picos beyond. Undulating ridge upon crested peak. Mirroring the heaving waves, which lap the white-gold sands before them.
The wind is round into the west today. Blowing along the coast. Bringing three small ships, sailing in from Santander. Ushering moist sea air away from the mountain tops. Painting the skies a pastel blue.
The sun smiles down unfettered. Two cormorants hot, by midday.
Revealing the rough hewn, earth fired splendour of the soaring cliffs, which surround the bay.
Unicorn horn pinnacles spear through clear blue waters. Pixie dust hazes distant peaks.
The harbour teems with fish. Audible as their tails break surface. Clearly visible in the limpid depths. But possessed of the power to evade harm.
A blissful, dreamlike, quality permeates the air.
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