The way the light shifts is sudden, like wind slamming shut a door. All day clouds have been gathered seamlessly above, immobile and the colour of slate. Unexpectedly they let in the sky. A thin sunbeam parts the dark, then further streaks swell through, throwing coins of light onto the lakes. They float for a moment before sinking into the deep. And then the sky closes over again, as if it had never been opened.
Not all seasons at this latitude are as open to change as this -the violent incandescence of clouds torn apart, the storm of winds that unstitch the sky. Riding into the warm months these shifts become more common; volatile and unpredictable before the settled spell of summer. While they sometimes bring spring rain, it is the light that falls today, dropping like veils. These wild squalls are fragile displays, as brilliantly short-lived as shooting stars. Light that turns dark before it has a chance to linger; a light too rare to squander.
By the way, Notes from Near and Far now has a page on Facebook for those who are interested. I’ll be using it to post additional photos from Prespa and elsewhere from time to time, along with quotes and links to various writers and environmental news. Please feel free to join via the Facebook button on the right of this page, and to add any links or items of interest.