I’d presumed I was vertical till a Cumulonimbus cloud
unbowed, bleached into vision: a squall line fuelled by
vigorous convective updrafts – fifty knots excessive – I was
then horizontal, grass-laid, quite lucky. Vaporous hands with
thick white thumbs smoothed my eyebrows, softened the billion
blades that supported me, I sank beneath an approaching
Stratocumulus; weak, I let it roll over me.