Apricot clouds silhouetted the small local mountain last night. The horizon was turquoise over the sea eight kilometers away. An hour later the sky was blue-black - night falls rapidly here.
The quarter moon lay on its back like a saucer without a cup, one bright star high on its left and another low down to its right. I must learn their names.
Someone was having a party - I think Barcelona won - and children were playing in the street, but outside the bar it was cold enough to need a fleece. The volcano might not have its usual February snow-cap but the wind blows bitter at night.
On my terrace one lone cicada signaled its solitary state. It's been doing that for weeks but there's no reply - has it mistaken the lack of rain for spring?