Dandelion 7

 A whickering roar draws my eyes skyward. The triumphant twelve cylinder song, of a Rolls-Royce Merlin aero engine. The silhouette is unmistakable: elliptical wings and bubble cockpit. It is a lone, Battle of Britain, Spitfire, "One of. . . . (Churchill's). . . .few." 

It circles in a patch of blue sky. Torn through the racing grey cumulo-cumulus clouds. Which boil above Dover Castle, like the smoke from a rolling naval broadside. Swept to seaward on the north wind.

The depth, of those dark clouds, creates fierce gusts. Fickle forecasts change at each bulletin. Although a consensus is building, around a lull midweek. Meanwhile, our dependable friend, the moon, guarantees fair tides over the coming seven days. Stargazer's next passage-making window may be forming. . . . .