Sunday, 10 February 2013
Running to catch the last of the fire-fall in wind-cracked hands, you know you're chasing something you can never hold, but you chase it anyway. The sun draws you out on these short days, but your giant shadow drags its feet, weighs you down to the frozen mass of dormant earth. You hang on tight to wire-mesh fences littered with last week's news and the splayed remnants of tide-washed take-aways and let the sunset rage bronze your face. It soothes the edges of your cracked voice. Eyes closed, you trace the fading track of a caged sun.