Monday, January 18, 2010
The colour of night
This morning the light was like the lustre on old pearls, so soft. Now there is none. No light. So dark you cannot see paw infront of whisker. So dark it is the deepdark, richdark of a black cat's fur. Across the sky clouds have eaten starlight, the new moon, the lighthouse sweep. Across the field the dog at the daffodil farm barks and sounds so close we could almost touch him. The sea is quiet, pressed beneath the weight of water-filled air, smoothed of all creases, unstirred by wind's breath. This is how it is now.