Rain clouds gather.

In this high place you can see the weather coming. Our whiskers say that it will rain and the air smells of rain. Over the sea it is gray as a gray cat and sunshine cuts through the clouds in islands of light.
The tree by the rock is covered in tiny white flowers and leaves. Good shelter. Good climbing.
She is quietly getting on with painting and has ceased her stamping and moaning that she cannot draw. For now.




And for now, we are off to hide in a cupboard and sleep.