It had been an odd day, anyway: a bomb scare to the north of us which faded from the social media as suddenly as it had appeared. The city blackened under a sudden violent shower, followed by a double rainbow.
I missed both, but heading out in the early evening with the Accent Snob, noticed that our neighbour hood was ringed with thunderheads. Saffron walls of cloud to the east and the south lit the streets in an eery glow. I'd left my Nikon at home, of course.
To the west, the sky was mauve and peach, behind houses lit from the east, so it felt like morning and evening at the same time.
It was rather spooky, to tell you the truth. The streets were nearly deserted, although I could hear voices from yards where Ottawans were determined to barbecue, damn it, on this last weekend before the year begins its turn in the direction of autumn and winter.
As I walked on, the thunderheads to the south and the east took the peach from the clouds in the west, and the upper windows of the houses blazed with lights -- although no one was home. The dog pulled mightily on his leash; he wanted nothing of this nonsense and tried to go home. I only dropped my phone once, cursing him.
I don't suppose the view east -- yes, east! -- up McKay Street inspired his confidence, particularly when I stood in the middle of the deserted street to get this shot, hauling him back with one hand, while poking the phone screen with the other. The next morning, the sun rose in the east as usual.
But not as spectacularly.
When I headed out to the bus stop this morning, I was startled to see a mackerel sky. I haven't seen that many mackerel skies in Hades, and they've always been in the evening. I don't know if this had anything to do with the freezing rain that was forecast and arrived later in the day.
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