Rotten Apples

The words evoke a pungent smell of dank leaves and windfalls… memories of an orchard years before… a childhood recollection long forgotten but suddenly reawakened from the depths of my consciousness, where it has lain dormant, buried beneath the decades and the layers of debris that have settled. Unexpectedly unearthed now the sweet, heavy scent of rotten apples rises in my nostrils for a moment and scenes flit soundlessly across my mind’s eye; dappled sunshine on leaf-strewn grass, standing self-consciously amongst the trees with the neighbours’ children as their father speaks with the farmer, more fruit than we can carry gathered in our jumpers, piling into the back of their beat-up car to return home with bags of green and rubied treasures.

26.08.2016

Black Swan

A black swan cuts a singular path through the blue air… I turn my eyes upward for just a moment, surveying the apparent dome of the summer sky. Unusual cloud formations, seemingly motionless despite the welcome breeze, give the scene a surreal sense of pause… turning back the swan has disappeared from sight. A lone gull crosses my field of vision, black-tipped wings rising and falling rhythmically and unhurried; sun glinting on its pure-white body.

A yacht moves out into the bay, so slowly it could be imagined to be drifting, or even shrinking. Departing at a diagonal from me, its sail has already risen above the horizon, where fifteen minutes ago it had looked close enough to touch… now its mast is barely perceptible where sea meets sky; cobalt touching pale-blue serenity. Continue reading