Thursday, 12 June 2008

Black sea

I just walked home. Late. Empty streets flashed fluorescent in colours that bounced into my eyes from wet pavements. Five minutes earlier, I was looking out at a black sea under a stormy sky - a rich black sea holding marker buoys that seemed to be suspended out there like star constellations on a blackboard diagram - a sea containing what I would normally see above me in a night sky. Monochrome.

As the light faded tonight, the only hint of the sea was the jagged sound of it's irregular breath. And as the tide fell relieved onto the smaller shingle and sand, the sound too faded. If you glanced at the right moment, you would sea a lip of white edged wave, just a glimpse before the darkness swallowed the seams and all was dark again. I liked the silent spaces in between the waves best. Gazing out at a shrinking panorama, it reminded me of a flicker book, or a spluttering early movies, when people always seemed to walk too fast and in sandstorms. 

No sandstorms tonight, only the threat of downpour. The sky loomed close. The clouds seemed to weigh heavy and tense, flattening down on the sunset sky, but no rain fell as the world turned black and white.