Thick mist and gales had thoroughly scrubbed the mountains for two days. The air was damp, dense globules packed around everything and everyone. The sea sat gravely under the weight of new moisture, swaying in the wind, seated over it like the ghost of ponderance.
Slowly, the grey curtain started to lift, like swathes of fabric unveiling a shop window. Peeks of the beautiful shapes and colours so carefully closeted now sparkled like new - including the sun glowing pure tangerine hues as it sank behind the horizon.
Sometimes one needs to hibernate into their own murkiness in order to see the true beauty of surroundings.