The shadows are defined in greater detail than the things they are created by, from an eager sun, blasting it's heat through the cold air. And just as I step onto the promenade, I see the amazing shadow cast by the first beach shelter, ahead of me.
At a slant. Elongated. Looming far bigger than the real thing. An odd skew-whiff angle. Crooked house about to fall down, if gravity ever has it's way with shadows. Like it could fold itself back at any moment and be as mundane as a cardboard box flat pack.
The sun strikes at the panes of toughened glass, and strange beams and bars of slow hatch, file out. Against the dark amalgam of the tarmac, with it's tiny jewels of quartz, glinting flint shards, and bubble gum pink gravel splattered into the mix, it looks like a dark night sky twinkling with stars, even though my peripheral vision can see blue sky all around.
The golden orbs on the roof are suspended on the ground now, like a row of stranded grey moons.
And while I have these wonderful moments, I am sad that I can't just take off and fly above this spot, able to capture this lovely transitory happening in the freeze frame of an eye-embedded camera, linked to my eternal memory bank, so I can always recall.
Any inventors out there?