The last evening and the water meadows of the River Tude are lit by bright shafts of sunlight against the backdrop of a gathering storm. The poplars lean to the east in the freshening wind; too slender to be bowed. The great storm clouds drift slowly closer but instead of enveloping us, steer to the north with just a rumble and, at the same time, another dark mass moves through on our other flank and the threat of a deluge in this, the middle ground, comes to nothing. The sun emerges into an emptying sky and the evening drifts to its usual conclusion without further drama.