Journey to Portugal by José Saramago

The traveller is heading for the heights, which by definition must be the Estrela mountains. Yesterday was clear, bright, and sunny; today the sun is covered by low cloud and those in the know say it will stay that way the whole day. Despite this, he decides not to give the mountains a miss. If in Tras-os-Montes he could travel through fog and pouring rain, here he is not going to let a few clouds stand in his way, all the more so as it is now spring. It may be he will find himself in the mountains without being able to see them, but he puts his faith in the fact that one of those ermine gods who used to be worshipped in Lusitania and are now asleep, such as Endovelico, might awaken from their centuries-old slumber and open some gaps in the clouds for him to see their ancient kingdoms.

The traveller decides not to follow the highway through Belmonte. If he is determined to head for the heights, he should get used to them immediately. So he travels along the Vale de Estrela to Valhelas, and the horizon is always in view. Except when, as often happens, the road is very narrow. In these regions, there isn't a soul on it. But it is true beyond a doubt that the clouds are low. Up beyond the next bend, there's a line of pine trees whose trunks appear cut in two: the tree tops are barely visible, and if the traveller is not careful, the clouds would come right in through his car window. But the god he has invoked must be present, because by the time he reaches the bend, the clouds have dispersed, and the road is clear. It's too soon though to cry victory. The cloud, or bank of fog, or thick mist has simply withdrawn a little higher, and is lying in wait for him at the next peak, to leap down on the road again.