PROMPT: Where are they going?
Where are they going?
The sea mist is wetter than she would have imagined. It condenses on the bike and the fisherman’s jumper, she took from the shop, has a fine layer of moisture that the oiled wool is keeping at bay for now.
Her hands though are cold and the cord trousers heavier than when she started.
The headlight light isn’t up to much but she expected that. Middle century technology never cut the mustard.
She knows she will not be followed. Those who are left are too busy with the details to appreciate that you just have to let it all just go, fall away, disinvest, or it will hold you. The clutter of small details that clamour for your attention will suck you in and it’s not that you then miss the big picture, you just can’t see the seams, the blurred lines between the tangibles.
She knows as she cycles through the fog with the sea on her left and the flood defences on her right to let sensation wash over her and so she will find the path.
There are no better worlds. No perfect place just out of sight. There are an infinity possibilities. So give thanks and move on through the gloaming.
where are they going
sometimes the seams show
twilight for example
or a wet nights velvet reflection
on the slick road surface
she knows the gloaming well
and contours towards a place
no better or worse than here