Sun (150)

I’ve no little post-it note prompts as to what to write about this morning. So be it. The sun is out. And I saw the moon from my window, though when I walked out I could no longer find it. Town was noisy with youngsters, the pavements splashed with vomit. I never realised that I could see the sea from my studio window. It looks a grey-ish blue and without the white horses of yesterday. A gentle day today. I always look forward to it, the listening and sewing but inevitably my unsettled mind will do what it can to unsettle me. I had to get up to pee several times last night, at one point, I think it must’ve been almost 9 pm, the sun was out and burnishing the trees and wasteland outside my bedroom window a golden yellow. I struggled to get back to sleep after seeing that. South Marine smelt of bonfires, so perhaps people had barbequed on the beach late into the night.

Her email described the terrible things her daughter has had to go through but it isn’t cancer. And they are grateful. And she tells me that her book club is to read Jane Eyre. She is a marvellously resourceful woman.

He bides his time till he can go out and walk before the coffee shop opens. He has always wrestled with Sundays. I like them, now that I no longer god to school while he, a retired lecturer can have all the Sundays he chooses. I hope he finds some peace today.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.