Sun and Clouds

Bright, sunny day – the clouds return to my table, crumpled, shiny and soft. The yellow one at the rear billows open for a moment and then returns to its supplicant attitude. Translucent catacombs, with curved, straining arches. Just next to it at the left the bulwark of a ship, an ice breaker heading through a black sea and still far from the prospect of ice. Or equally the looming presence of an albino shark, jaw open as it lunges up to bite some blithe seal. And then there is the sea itself – a squashed, black, uneven thing. It presses its lumbering bulk down upon an empty fruit bowl. So there are three plastic bags altogether – one yellow, one white and one black. I have been shopping. I have walked amongst crowds of people. I have spoken to shop assistants. I have nodded at a former student as he walked down the hill towards some kind of retro record sale. His girlfriend wore yellow stockings. I deliberately chose the slow way home.

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