They catch the light of the moon and that thrown by the street lamps and glitter. They are gewgaw stuff – bits of flotsam (tin cans, bottles, cellophane wrappers etc.) dropped, discarded or left on the beach, pavements and roads. Nevertheless, they glitter and, magpie-like, my eye is momentarily caught.
Were they bats that I saw swooping and swirling above the beach – black and fast?
The little child’s trainer is still there, impaled on a railing top along North Road.
I saw a jay just now. It came to the guttering about the Americans’ flat. Perhaps it intended to fly down and partake of one of their fat balls, but it didn’t. Instead it flew to an adjacent rooftop and perched there for a moment in all its grace and magnificence. An acquaintance once told me that seeing one was auspicious.
I wake to a greyness – a sinking feeling. I just need to let it be. To let that be the colour if it must be so. I use up so much energy trying to make what is something other. It is too much. There is nothing wrong. Just let it be.
