Norfolk is renowned for its big skies but anywhere can enjoy wonderful skyscapes. I spend hours watching them. They change more than the landscape, hour by hour, minute by minute sometimes. My camera cannot capture the sunsets nor can a word or a phrase describe it adequately. They say that Eskimos have almost 50 words for snow. Surely skies deserve more.
This evening, just past sunset, I look out on a clearing sky. A band of dark grey cloud to the north, overhead whiffs of cumulus, like puffs of smoke, scatter the pale grey of dusk. To the west, the last rays of lemon sunshine paint the trees black. To the east the sky is flushed candyfloss pink, highlighting the poplars cloaked in copper and russet.
In the few minutes it took to write that description, the pink has spread to the north and orange striations have appeared to the west. Overhead the sky is now a deeper blue. Outside, the first owl hoots, a chain saw gives its last gasp and smoke from a wood burner scents the air. How do you capture all that in a sentence so that the readers remains interested?