Sunlight reluctantly relinquishes the bay, replaced slowly by sheer, burnt-orange veils falling gently over every hard surface.
Silently all is wrapped in carbon-black; inspired and unimaginative structures alike, effortlessly redacted.
Power lines and gutters painlessly dissolve, leaving thousands of amber cells of light to my left and right, and a few at Ashton Park, across the bay to the North, sparkling like suspended gems in the night.
Suddenly, a cool breeze. Trees in Beare Park shift and whisper - a conspiracy of leaves, aching to speak, but bound by age-old vows of secrecy.
As dark as it is now, I can still tell water from sky... a deep, still blue-black under a black-black starless heaven tonight.
About the Creator
Lee Wilde
Australian Artist and Poet
My store: LeeWilde.com.au
Instagram: @wildeabouart
Final Call
She flings her arms around my neck and squeezes me like she’s never going to let me go. My head spins as her lips brush against my cheek. She must be able to feel my heart thumping in my chest. I shuffle backwards and ram my hands into my coat pockets, watching her reach down and heave the rucksack across her shoulders.
By Caroline Craven7 days ago in Fiction
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