Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt this week is
Send In The Clouds
‘Hello?’ The woman was sparse, like a brisk wind.
‘Mrs Soffit?’ The man wore curiously aerodynamic overalls and booster spats.
‘I am she.’
‘Colin Colon, Nimbulo Creatives. I think you… or your husband…?’ He smiled a little unsurely.
‘Oh you’ve come about the sky?’
‘That’s it. Some problem with the sunsets? The cowling’s come loose, I heard.’
‘Frankly it’s beyond my horizons. If I can just show you through I’ll leave you to it. Do you need to bring anything?’
‘I’ll just check and I’ll fetch whatever I need from my van.’
‘You’ll need a long ladder.’
They both laughed; sky maintenance always involved a long ladder.
As they exited the backdoor, Colin stopped and whistled. Mrs Soffit turned, looking worried. ‘Is everything alright?’
He nodded, looking serious in a professionally-competent-but-this-will-set-you-back-a-bob-or-two kind of way. ‘It’s your stratosphere. I think your alto-cumulous has discombobulated the cirro-nimbus above those trees and the torque on your neighbours’ jet steam is being herniated so it’s leaking into your stratus-substrate. Makes your firmament rather unstable.’
Mrs Soffit susurrated like a breezy autumn. He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘We get this all the time with these old weather formations. It’s amazing this one has lasted as well as it has. A couple of new optic hurricane plugs and a coat of Swiss-mizzled condensate and it’ll be as good as a wet weekend.’
Mrs Soffit tapped her heart to restart it; it clunked back into first gear. ‘Thank heavens; it’s the local Organ festival and my husband’s has high hopes that his engorged prostate will take first prize in urinary tract category. It would be simply bestial if we couldn’t put on a bit of a decent sunset, don’t you think?’
‘Oh quite. I’ll get on then. Have you any outside wind?’
‘There’s a tap by the conservatory; we had it refreshed this spring so it should be good for a storm force ten and above.’
‘Marvellous. Chance of a cuppa?’
Mrs Soffit allowed a mock frown to bifurcate her constellations. ‘You workmen are so cheeky. Sugar?’