The afternoon sun barely penetrates the clouds, torchlight through paper, seashell sounds. And everything is muted but my affection for you.
Most of the time, I feel unencumbered by the clashings and conspiracies of colleagues; both feet several inches outside of the circle in which everything seems to happen. In the art of noticing, I am, at times, spectacularly inept. Though I can sit for hours, sketching and perfecting the same mouth. Here at the beach, the moon brings the sea suddenly to my toes, a surprise gift, and disappears, laughing, behind a cloud. Beyond the groynes, a little dog has chased the red kite too far, but she has not yet been lost long enough to panic.