The most interesting thing about the local weather this weekend (which for us, remember, is just ending now, on our local Friday night) is that we've actually been having some.
Before he left for distinctly less-green pastures, the DW was our guest at lunch on the beach, where there is a clever little bistro located in a seaside pavilion, an outpost of a Dubai chain, that ambitiously attempts to be a Lebanese restaurant, a sushi bar, and a luxe variation on a local coffee shop, with shisha (water pipe) and bitter little cups of coffee on the roof.
It was a lovely afternoon, actually, to sit up there and look out to sea, for it was uncharacteristically moody, gray and breezy (weather that, on the water, always for no good reason makes me think of The French Lieutenant's Woman), and looking back from the beach we could also watch the clouds roll in over the hills that are the backdrop for our little capital.
Such is the nature of my life that even on a weekend afternoon, I had to abandon Mr. Muscato and the DW for a dash of work, but as I left I took the above snap, looking back across the mangrove swamp that lies behind this stretch of beach toward the hills. By the time I reached my destination, it was pouring rain, and Mr. M. & Co. had sought shelter downstairs, just in time.