The Shadow

Lady on the beach, reclining aslant towards me with your golden pendant and your unexpected watch, what do you see as you gaze across to the island? There you are, echoed, almost mirrored along it’s foreshore with greenery above and a house looking away. Or are you in conversation with the man standing before you? Why does he rest his hands upon his head? Is he frowning, anguishing about something that has been said? To lift one’s arms aloft in such a way stretches out the chest, opening the lungs to fresh air, the mind to fresh thoughts. And look, there on the horizon, yet another echo, almost dissolving two thirds across the sky, an idea is forming in his shadow.

    So whilst a man kneels to arrange his net for the sea, the waves gently whiten as they meet along the beach, a small picnic sits forgotten, there is the reach of shapes which respond to themselves, a pattern: woman, man and yachts. The movement of the sky subtly offers itself as a still canvas for the semi-sunlight and the whisper of the shadow watching me as I look.