Archive for December 2007

path fog

December 28, 2007

The fog settles and all falls silent, hushed, reluctant to disturb the tendrils of mist. She softens her step, aware of the swollen quiet, unwilling to end it.

There is the odd noise but never an echo, never resonance, never the expectation of an answer. The odd chirp, snap of a twig, rustle of a leaf, gurgle of a stream – they linger disembodied in the air, adding to the quiet and never breaking it.

She cannot remember how she got here. The fireplace and friends around it, the warm house and bustling kitchen are all obscured by the fog and the memory of their laughter silenced by it. It may have been minutes ago or hours.

Looking behind, from whence she came, she seeks a glow in the haze, the hint of a lit window or of a building.


But there is just the path, lined with hedgreow, and the odd shadow of a branch hinting at the trees obscured by the opaque vapour.


the jumper

December 4, 2007

His room lay in disarray, clothes strewn here and there. Mail – opened and unopened – on the floor just to the right of the door. The curtains let a weak beam of the grey daylight through, sucking the colour from everything it touched. It wasn’t so much illumination as it was a source of contrast against the darkness.

He saw the jumper amidst a pile of others atop his unmade bed. It was black and thick-knit. Bobbles of wool clung from the elbows down to the cuffs. The turtleneck still had the indent from her chin.

He lifted it delicately, as if not to wake it, by the shoulders. The turtleneck fell forward, empty. He held the indent to his nose and closed his eyes, drawing in the air. His eyes stung and a torrent of bittersweet memories flooded back. Her scent remained and for that moment she was there.

Just for that moment.