Friday, 24 October 2008

Writing in the dark

Walking in the dark after work. Right by the sea. Caught between the shush and push of a near high tide and the low throaty roar of Friday night traffic. Stereo sound. 

Coming into and out of vision, the sea is only visible when the shock of a breaker casts a long flash of teeth chomping at stones. Horizontal curtains open up, momentarily, then close fast. Shutters. Blinkers. Screens. Sight on and off, in time with the red blinks of the warning buoy, bobbing out at the end of the pier. 

I hardly see him as I walk past. A tall dog sits on the only occupied bench along the whole promenade. Neatly poised. Statuesque. Gazing out to sea. Beside him, a man wrapped in warm layers against the night, is writing in the dark. He wears fingerless gloves. 

I smile as they melt into the darkness again. I thought it was only me who did such things.