The Escapade

A lone owl perched on a the branch of a birch tree, was wide-eyed, looking out at the noises emanating from the ground. Moonlight streamed in through the canopy, letting the owl discern some little figures that were slowly trudging through the forest floor. Rachel tossed the wet tissue into a bin, having dabbed her

Gold

I was the gold you once wore Just to melt me in a crucible  A speck of dust on your rusted heart I thought it was just enough  But the night erased the day Into the blankness in your face My hurt wasn’t reflected there The mirror had long since cracked Into figments of my

The sights

Everything is dotted with a whirl of colour bursts like blooming flowers. At least that’s what I think it is when suddenly someone switches it all off. I scramble to my feet and blink rapidly, trying to catch a shadow for clues. But all I see is the dark, the swirly nothingness of the dark.

The evening

The clouds glisten like water as the sun sinks into it. It strikes me how small it looks, like an orange ink blot in the sky. The other colours- the rosy pink blush, bright blue and the soft lavender look like smudged streaks of paint. God is a good artist. Excellent, even. And very speedy