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Feather

I can’t always make things out as I walk in early morning gloom. I think it was a feather, caught in a coweb in the eaves of one of the tall terrace houses along North Parade, that was flapping about in breeze. I heard laughter and looked around me, there was no one. Then I saw a lit window above. Students gathering for a late night Christmas party no doubt. I saw the moon as I walked along the Prom it was peeping out between layers of clouds, still yellow. It will be big soon.

It’s over, all that kerfuffle is done and dusted for another year. I enjoyed listening to the carol-countdown yesterday afternoon, though. What now, eh, Classic FM?

He didn’t know what the red lightning bolt signified either. He looked it up. It’s a feminist solidarity symbol from Poland. I’ve seen a few attached to windows.

No news from her. I hope that grief hasn’t floored her. Give her strength.

I was thinking of her and of the time when I asked too much and I slipped and fell. Good job our neighbour is very deaf for I fell just outside her window and swore like a trooper. My knees are a little bruised and cranky but nothing broken. Why is it the falling always makes me want to cry?

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.