Clouds:

Something has shifted. No sun. The clouds black & angry, rolling like a heavy black blanket across the heavens, lightening flashing on the distant horizon resembling the eyes of a Spanish señorita. The purple sea bruised by the slapping, bashing, smashing, cruel waves, silencing the  gulls into submission as they sit on their sad salty rocks. The wind howls like a lonely wolf around empty grey street corners inviting golden leaves to dance their Autumn waltz, which they gladly do, now light from their imprisoned damp. At last Autumn has arrived with her nippy bite, but this being Spain, I know that father sun shall make his appearance later on in the day, just to show who´s boss, but I thank this morning´s black squally screeching that fills me with primitive energy.