Tuesday, 11 May 2010

The Crystal Ship

I was woken up last night by the sound of the slates clicking on the roof. That always means that the temperature is rising back above zero, after having dropped below. It doesn't usually get so cold here in May. Maybe it will kill off some burgeoning midges.

I wandered downstairs and sat on the sofa for a while, looking out towards the bay. I left the lights out, so as not to spoil my dark adaption. The clicking from the roof subsided and it all became tranquil. The sea was flat calm. A pale glow in the sky heralded the (too) imminent arrival of dawn.

A ship heaved into view beyond the headland. It was probably just a large fishing vessel but it seemed garlanded with light, which spilled onto the mirror surface of the water. There's something about looking out to sea at that drowsy hour of the morning. A chance to get things in perspective, perhaps.

I imagined myself standing sleepily on the ship's illuminated deck, peering back at the darkened houses in the bay, wondering if anyone was awake in there.

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