I yearn to climb the peaks, or to feel the deck of the yacht which is rounding the headland. A splash of white light from the still-hidden sun creates a fairy-tale backdrop over the sea. They might as well both be in that fairy tale for all the hope I have of seeing either closer up.
Now I am stuck in a fencing hall having nearly been involved in some sort of a row. I have the magnificent sound of "Lacrimosa dies illa" and I am trying to calm down and read some technical material.