Five stripes stretch out; slices of world that race to converge on a vanishing point in front of me.
On the far right the triple blades of the wind turbines are swallowed by low cloud on the mountain tops. The slopes which will be green later are murky now and dark; obscured here by stray cloud wisps – grey and full of water – there by shadow and early morning haze. At the base, the edge of the stripe, the straight line of the N340 that goes to Cádiz. The tall white tanks of the fertilizer factory, the electricity plant’s humming tangle, the red roof of the petrol station like a child’s toy from this distance.
On the far left the wide open waters of the Straits are untroubled this windless morning. Smooth and almost still – orange buoys bob and betray the whereabouts of the fishermen’s nets. Little trawlers keep each other company out there. With moderately raised voices I’m sure they can chat from boat to boat it is so quiet. Africa is shrouded in its own marine layer – the serrated outline of the Tangier coast an only slightly darker grey than the sky above it. More