The faintest hint of light.
For no more than a minute or two.
With the tightest of angle between horizon and mish-mash of stormy clouds.
Too much in pain to write. To lie down or sit. Condemned to stand or walk slowly, at an angle.
Feeling stoned from the painkiller injection.
That will teach me to carry a gas cooker on my own.
I'd happily kick myself, if it didn't hurt that much already...