Being unimportant...

We hardly had time to gather together the picnic things and throw them into the boot of the car before the rain came. We knew it was coming of course. The mountains in the distance had been disappearing into the grey for twenty minutes, maybe more, the seagulls gliding overhead turning whiter then whiter still as the sky dripped and dropped dark blue ink into our sightline.

Across the estuary the weed glowed - yellow green, almost to lime - the cottages by the aerodrome flashing whiter against the darkening dunes.

Sitting safe in the car we watched.

Looking to the mountains as the grey rain fell in the distance, all streaked smudges of charcoal and chocolate with a splattering of white wash ink, the rain crashing upon the roof of the car, the water water-falling down the windscreen.

Behind us the rain was still to arrive, the hillside burning with sun bright colour – yellow, green, vermilion, and the lush rich purple of the heather. A light aircraft landed in the distance on the almost island. ‘I bet they’re glad to be down.’ I thought.

Watching the weather in a big landscape under an even bigger sky makes you feel so small, a tiny spec of inconsequentiality amidst so much space at the mercy of whatever, whoever, decides to hurl at you.

And sometimes it’s good to feel so unimportant - that way life is quieter, despite the impending storm.