Down the road, evening.

There are splashes and flashes of light and shadow across the world, a theatre of sun and wind conducted from very high by a dancing cirrus djinn with ribboning fingers.

Up the road, afternoon.

Daddy-longlegs are everywhere, floundering stupidly over road and verges, banging into us.  Why aren't there birds to eat them?  The swallows could have feasted but it's too late, they're gone.