Adjectives are qualifiers that specify more precisely what you want

I asked the photographer from the post yesterday, who took the picture of the pink, fluffy cloud in Colorado, to let me have some clouds for my walk this evening. I thought 'pink & fluffy' was assumed, but apparently not. What you see is what I got. As I walked, I took three dozen pictures of this cloud formation: old habits do die hard, because that is the same number of frames as a roll of 35mm film, aka a thirty six cassette back in the day. Hands up those who remember the pre-digital days, when film was a significant cost… waiting… and waiting… only to realize that the decisive moment had passed?

The scene before me was constantly changing, so it was hard to know from one moment to the next which one was decisive. Even Cartier-Bresson, who liked the idea so much he wrote a book with the English title 'The Decisive Moment',  would probably have shot off a full roll. His book was entitled 'Images à la sauvette' in French—'Images on the sly' would be a fair translation—but this was rampantly obvious photography. So much so that when I arrived back home, my neighbor called out, "I saw you taking pictures; well done!" We live in the sort of neighborhood where even brief conversations shouted across a street can be punctuated by semicolons. I thought, how can she possibly know? Perhaps I misunderstood. It happens a lot.

My thirty seventh frame was of some pampas grass growing in a neighborhood garden. The soft fronds were shot through with watery sunlight coming through the clouds you have already seen. The photograph doesn't do justice to the reality, but I think that may be something to do with the ambient temperature and humidity where we are sitting now. I was excited at the prospect of a spectacular sunset. What actually happened was the sun went down behind a bank of thick, grey cloud without so much as a glimmer or a chink of crimson. Life is like that sometimes.