It is night, and darkness has settled over Greyling Bay like a shroud.
Out in the ocean, just off the bay, a deeper darkness gathers. Just below the surface. Thickening almost into substance as the tide swells strangely high towards the light-strung promenade.
Rosie Able
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Oooh.... not another storm at Greyling Bay? Haven't quite got ourselves together after the last one!!
Neat and short and evocative.
D
Will there be no end to the darkness?
It is cold this morning, where I am, and grey in the sky, threatening rain. Not a storm, but slow falling rain. Crows in small numbers wheel above the trees on the hill. Maybe they are rooks. Black anyways, like flecks of soot or thrown blossom, if blossom were not just light but dark.
Everything dark.
No, not everything. Some places it is Spring. I have seen pictures in my head. Pink and yellow and white flowers by the side of roads. And blue in the sky. Pictures like memories.
So I take a trip today. Despite the sky. By car. To the coast. All the way to Greyling Bay. It is quiet there. Not much happening. And dark there too, like it is winter still, and it should be different, and no one talking, and maybe others have come and turned quickly away finding the small shops closed and the villagers going about their business as though there was a funeral, and a long period of mourning is what it feels like.
May already. It should be different.
I turn the wheel, swing about 180, making a scream in that turning, and set off home. There is no one else on the road. It starts raining then.
D
I stayed in and watched the telly.
BFL
It's Wales, Douglas. It's raining, that's all. Still. Since March.
But: The sun will come up tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar... (Ah, sorry, that's from Annie...)
Nesta Owen
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