Saturday, 29 October 2016

Moorgate: lunchbreak

Image result for moorgate station roundel
Pic: Andrew Bowden

The sky was dark. The waves were swollen, crested by strokes of black and purple. Accents of white foam edged the dusky sand.  A woman, dressed in a smart pinstripe suit, was facing the storm. She was standing still and supple, as if the day’s weariness had been swallowed by the violent waves.

Sky and waves, meeting in the distance - where did the sky end and the sea start? Dark clouds were gathering and soon silver flashes fragmented the sky.  A moon ray filtered out of a cloud: a translucent beam in the midnight blue.

She was waiting, her bare feet washed by the sea, her eyes on the far horizon. High sprays bathed her face, making her eye make-up run down in dark rivulets. In those roaring waves, in that soaked sand, in that sky split by lightning, there was a force. A powerful one she had not encountered before.

Invisible arms were enveloping her. A supreme being breathed in the sea, sky and sand. The storm was his powerful lullaby. Tired, she lay on the sand and closed her eyes.

At last all was calm. The sea was an indigo brush stroke, the sky a jewelled midnight blue, the woman a shapeless body on the burnt sienna sand. A suffused light illuminated the unframed canvas, a pair of black high-heeled shoes neatly placed underneath. 

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