The wind having driven them, the clouds had crossed the Venice sky all through the night, gliding fast through the air like sailboats on the water. If powerful headlights had been pointed skyward, it would seem like you were watching a regatta of the clouds. There were had been roaring thunder for hours. The noise proved disturbing, sounding like cannon fire with its aim being adjusted towards passers-by. With every rumble, somebody on the street would start running, fearing they’d be struck by a water “bomb”.
In the end, not one drop of rain had fallen. The wind had now swept everything away, even the last remnants of cloud, which made the skies clear everywhere. As if by magic, a mountain belt had appeared, some of which were more than sixty miles away, like the Cima Portule, the
