Penny Whistle

When it’s sunny and there isn’t time to ‘go and sit out’, I stand up on the window seat in our kitchen upstairs and stick my head out of the skylight. I love seeing the world, our small world, from the rooftops. I can see far off into the distance and I can hear human sounds from the quad down below. Last night someone was playing a penny whistle (or was it a flute). It sounded so light and cheerful and happy. It stills me – the sun on my face, that expanse and those gentle sounds of living.

Lucky: they call my sister lucky, was another one of the half-asleep, half-awake sentences that came into my head this morning. They make him laugh. I even see the punctuation, I tell him. There was definitely a colon.

I was slow this morning, and didn’t manage to do my whole walk. I did make it to the harbour nevertheless, in time to see the fishing boat out at sea, its lights blaring like a flame.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.