Water tinkles o’er rock
We find each other
“Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.”
Right, here we go.
Everybody in position, check.
New bulb fitted properly in flash rig, check.
Adjust focus…dear God. That girl, she’s looking right at me.
Focus. She’s not looking at you; she’s looking at the camera. She’s just looking at the camera.
No she isn’t. She’s been looking at me all afternoon, and now she’s fluttering her eyelids at me slowly, showing her ankles like a wanton slut…
Damned hot in here; can hardly breathe. Can’t focus, all I see is that girl’s eyes; that smile…
Oh God; now Mrs Robertson’s giving me the evil eye!
What if she knows?
It was eerie, that silence.
The sun had barely risen from its bed, only now rousing itself and spreading its wings across the horizon, casting a ghostly pallor over the vast lake. In the dimness of this eldritch glow the ferry glided quietly, the only sound the rush of water surging past the bow and around the vessel.
It was like a floating tomb.
This was fitting, I thought, as one by one I took up the heavy black plastic sacks, heaved them up to the rail and pushed them overboard, listening as each one fell with a satisfying splash.
Oh, sweet October…
Spare thy frost on yonder grapes
Our sweet summer wine (c) Opie Houston
Sweet summer wine mulled with spice
Warms us on cold winter nights The Imaginator
I find you intriguing; I tell you that I’m hanging on your every word. I’m simply fascinated by what you have to say.
Can’t you tell?
Do go on.