The sky is deceptively still. Endless miles of wintry blue starkness stretches as far as the eye can conceivably see. Slight wispy white strands gently suspend, their fragility enhanced by the cold backdrop. They slowly and stealthily gravitate together. So slow one wonders if and how they moved at all, but gravitate they do. With equal stealth, these large puffs of feathery floss then journey towards the mountains,  showing off their dense beauty against the theatrical azure.

Busy breezes whip up the clouds as it fervently spring-cleans the mountain tops. Rare as it is to see those precipitatious mounds rising rather than hurtling horizontally, rise they did in their colourful mid-afternoon hues. Those initial tentative pinks of an early sunset grow in beauty and frequency as the smoky dusk settles.

Clouds buffet wildly as gales gust and lull above the mountains - like calamitous speed training for the elements. All colours and textures clash during the writhing dance, intermingled without choice, just serendipitous geography. Passions develop as natural forces make them coexist as they turbulently wait out the storms. Heavy snow hues infiltrate and bruise their soft edges and swell up like lips rekindling memories.