Dark clouds over Tolpuddle

I am always astonished by the strange beauty of clouds - I look up from the grey street, to see a wonderful empire in the air - one moment, I am one of a crowd, shuffling past a Poundland - my face is like a withered pale leaf - the next moment, I am captured by the sky -

I wonder if this one of the reasons I love flying in jets - from my reclining seat, I can glance through the window - there are the clouds below me - strange worlds of vapour, with their fantastic gorges, mountains and plateaux - I always keep a sharp look out for flying saucers - as a boy, the story of Captain Mantell enthralled me - once, I was sure that I saw the shadow of his P-51 -

When I'm walking in the countryside, I'm more aware of the heavens than I am in towns - sometimes the sky over our water meadows seems to go on forever -

I once walked with Penny, across the fields beyond Tolpuddle - maize fields were green, mysterious, spaces - you would be lost if you ventured off the path -

The wheat was tall and ripe, stirring in the warm breeze - poppies had hairy stems and torn glossy petals - a Red Admiral settled, for a long moment, upon a purple flower -

Above the wheat fields were huge dark clouds, gathering above a clump of trees - I stood stock still - I felt sure that something was going to happen - I thought of van Gogh's Crows over the Wheatfield - but there were no black shapes in the air, only movements within the wheat -