Today the sun has added a drop of lemon to the proceedings - a hazy drip, sharpening the taste but clouding the clear. The sea looks on, brittle, bleaching.
Monday, 30 March 2009
24.03.09
Today the horizon is an oppressive stack of manuscripts, compressed under their own weight, layers of differently finished and gauged pages gently merging, spines flattened, edges inexpertly cut. The sea is the deepest strata, where letters and words have melted into each other, diluting the black text with the white spaces in between.
20.03.09
Today a man is urinating on a neighbour's car's door-handle, while the very same neighbour approaches in her second, different, very small red car, intent upon merely grazing the man mid-micturition, confident that her tiny vehicle can do no real damage. A purple sky, a puerile scene, a passer-by photographs the invisible sea and a disturbance of the peace.
19.03.09
Today the dust has appeared. It happens sooner than this, usually. A few months of being pocketed in winter, a false spring, and then the dust. The sky is an indistinct dry grey. The sea is an ancient mirror, leeching black flowers at the edges, muffled under fluff.
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
18.03.09
Today is a bright morning with long shadows, a day's early summer before the trees know what's going on, while the air is unusually cold early because it'll be unusually warm later. This time of year has the faint horror of being young and right.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
17.03.09
Today there's nothing to spoil the view. We're entirely focused, directed directly at everything in hand. The sea shines brightly on the sky, the sky is benign, passive - a feature in a shaded glass, like a milky tea in those smoky glass coffee cups from your childhood, where the aura of science could be demonstrated by watching the tendrils of red leech out of a teabag.
Monday, 16 March 2009
16.03.09
Today we stayed away, and wouldn't say what we did. We didn't take the air. We rested. We gathered scraped hair, and whispering measured, and cooking calmed, fidgeting ate, and waiting uploaded pictures, listening waited, squinting assessed, stretching planned and unplanned and pausing planned again.
Friday, 13 March 2009
13.03.09
Today the sky looks sharpened into a high definition image of the sky. It looks like a shade of blue that only looks right on a bigger screen than you're using. The sea, however, is the same size grey as before. A bit taller towards the middle, but precisely the same size overall.
12.03.09
Today, the sky has a blue hesitancy. Faced with an infinite extension, it lurks in the left, veils itself decorously with a dangling bird. The sea is a shelf. Everything that falls ends up perched on its width.
11.03.09
Today, the sky is a soft cheek, pillow warm, visible between crumpled clouds, thin blushed capillaries. The sea is the remnants of subtle kohl shadows on hidden eyelids.
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
10.03.09
Today the shadows look sepia, the uninterrupted union of sky distorts towards the south, and the sea hunkers at the back of the saloon in dark confederate livery.
Monday, 9 March 2009
Wednesday, 4 March 2009
04.03.09
Today the sky looks aligned, inside as well as out. A sympathetic alignment of indistinct tones. The tones indistinctly sympathise with their allies. The cracks in the road are getting prominent, they're starting to protrude. The composition suffers as a result. The sea looks white, but an unfussy white - a white that never smelled like paint. Not an antiseptically odourless white, just a white that was never newly painted.
03.03.09
Today there's an empty feeling in this place. There's no dust, and nothing itches. The wind has taken the salt away. The sky looks Canderel white and the sea looks grey like the briefcase of a salesman from elsewhere, passing through, stopping for a coffee, not sure which pocket his tickets are in, innocently collecting up a spoon along with his biro and a paper napkin he's been writing the phone numbers on.
Monday, 2 March 2009
02.03.09
Today the sky looks straight. The sea is straight beneath. The sky is neither fully grey nor fully blue. The sea is the same only the other way 'round. Rather undramatic. Thank you for trying.
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