The cold warmth of Portugal in winter turned every landscape into a rich colourful painting. The dim yellowish light of the sun was so soft and scattered that the resulting translucent veil recovering the valley highlighted the loveliness of this hilly scene. The more the time went by, the more this pale diffuse brightness turned into deep patchy reddish amber sparkles. Tackling the mount of every hills at first, ember-like twinkles then overwhelmed the sky and reflected in water in no time.
As the end of the day was approaching, the bluish sky was fading away, letting the orange glow of the nearly sleeping sun preparing for darkness. A blazing ball kept hiding behind a range of mountains that were as dark as if they were covered by thick black smoke. Soon enough, the grim steam from the hills expanded to the sky, as if to help the round red fire dousing itself in the distance. The chilly heat of Portuguese winters is a gleeful scenery I wish everyone’s heard of.
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