capricious march

I spent the later part of Easter in the south-eastern end of the island. My time there was equally divided between forest and seaside. It was like being on different continents. The drastic change in scenery was one thing, the unpredictable early Spring English weather was another.

Caught suddenly in the woods by torrential hail, five miles from the hotel, no shelter in sight, I fervently hoped by camera bag was waterproof. It was, thank God. On arrival to the hotel, drenched from head to toe in fresh water, the sky turned a sapphire kind of blue. The sun shone sarcastically down as if to deny having anything to do with it.

So short-lived was it, however, that by the time I located my key in one of my seven pockets, the clouds were beginning to gather in the sky, preparing to produce precipitation of whatever kind.


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