this quiet tension

Pollença skies

There is a storm coming.

I feel it, the pressure behind my forehead building, the air becoming heavier, thicker somehow. The dark clouds roll into view, high and menacing far above. One by one the stars are blotted out, the night sky becoming velvety and impenetrable. Everything is affected by this tension, this taut pressure. Inside the low Spanish homes the dogs are strangely quiet. The narrow streets are abandoned, the air still and waiting. Within the next hour or so it will begin.

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