light sparks over the floor, hardwood gleaming golden - ancient wood glows new. walk downstairs, caress the banister, rings scraping along the metal. wear in the building, lovingly restoring it to its future self.
work by candlelight. the night is too dark, too long to justify startling neon electricity. head bent over work, inches from the flame: the flame grows taller, longer. the wax burns down, and work-time is complete.
the ocean is still, electrified with the sunlight - sublime, it hurts to look at for more than a few seconds. i'm perched on a lookout point, binoculars in hand and sunglasses slipping down my nose so i can watch the forests. from here, the water is beyond sparkling; it's alive, as if it has… Continue reading illumination, 1.1 (150)
moonlight reflects through the window, blindingly white against the mirror. sunlight reflects off the sidewalk, glittering and sparkling against lawns. fluorescent lights glow in the dark of night, a gap - of bright mystery.
light sparkles from the top of the tower, guidance - calling me back home. time transforms into fluid, gold and purple and pink, ever-changing. top of the cliff, a lighthouse has eternity as a backdrop. (home)
walking through the city: it's six a.m. on a chill winter day. fog abounds, i can't see more than thirty metres down the road. isolated - it's a public holiday. the cold brushes over me ignoring my fashionable jacket. the sky remains violet as one car swooshes past. gone, into the fog. disappearing in a… Continue reading NaPoWriMo 20 (fog)
hazy evening draws closer over horizons; sky pale blue and gray. ----- glaring neon-bright from electronics, constant form of stimuli. ----- fabric drawn, soft and shielding as the candle flame burns on down - and out.
manipulating; light twisted, wrapped around an item like a gift. ----- watch them lengthen and drink the light: biting with fangs too old to go dull. ----- curled around you like a friend; they know how to hide insidious depths.
a small piece of light stolen from the sky and used as pretend sunlight. ----- draped in silken scarf and throwing the colour to tint the entire room. ----- do not pretend that its presence gives clarity: light is a false friend.
The rasp of the match on paper is something I've learned with years of practice: angling my wrist and holding the match just so. It takes a moment - the candle is new, the wick hasn't yet been broken in - before the flame catches. It's tiny at first, quickly heightening as it traverses the length of… Continue reading The Candle