pictures in mind

by deav - 28 feb 2008

The rain floated around her like foam. She pulled up the collar of the leather coat and folded the lapels over the scarf already rolled up around her neck. It was cold, but that was exactly what she had been hoping for. The woolen cap down to the eyebrows would have to do; she would not open the umbrella again.

They had just walked ahead, leaving her behind. They were probably used by now to her compulsion for tiny little flowers growing on every roadside. There were many here, scattered on the bushes that showed above the stonewalls along the way. At last. She closed her eyes to enjoy the silence of almost wilderness; she was disturbed too soon, though. The roar of an engine in the distance was louder than the buzzing of the midges, the flapping of wings, the occasional chirp hidden by the leaves, when the wind was too strong, shaking the higher branches. Eyes still closed, she lifted her head and breathed in the flowery scent. She tried to identify beneath the overall green all the strange notes the soft rain extracted from the landscape, so alien to her. Ozone. Peat. Salt. Smoke. Honey, perhaps? Something smelled red.

There was laughter from somewhere down below. She was surprised to see that the concrete pavement turned into a pebbly pathway around the bend, leading downwards. And that the tall oak she had seen from the top of the road actually hid a breathtaking view.

“Ah…” she sighed, coming to a halt at the top of the soft slope. There it was, again, the feeling she had been experiencing continuously since they had arrived, that she could only call awe. She went down slowly, her heart beating fast. She bit her lower lip, she would not cry in front of them. Soon her feet touched the slippery surface of the rocky shore.


“Watch your step, it’s slippery there,” he said, and she was grateful again for his care, and somewhat disturbed. He made her feel that way, she was aware of that by now. She gave a shrug.

“Ok.” She went on cautiously, closer to the waterline, until she had the whole view.

It was a small bay. Actually, she was not so sure they were not trespassing; it could well be someone’s backyard. While they played and laughed, she put on her landscape face and shut them out. She wanted to keep that place carved in her memory. The line where the bay met the grey-green bushy hill on her left. The narrow band of rocky beach. Moist black stones beneath her feet, covered with seaweed that smelled like caviar, in dark shades of yellow and brown; and floating cushions bigger than she had ever seen. They were having fun popping the airbags like in those plastic wrappings. There were trees to her right. And, beyond, the point where the bay met the open water that she could see with her mind’s eyes. The water mirror lay in shades of lead, where more seaweed floated like grass around the small boat; it seemed that only the towrope prevented it from going adrift.

Her eyes moved slowly up. She held her breath when she saw the black shaded reflex of the moors beyond, as if for the first time. And she exhaled when silvery clouds emerged dramatically from yonder. They kept on laughing and she just wanted to cry, of joy, of gratefulness. She knew that they could not understand. Maybe he could, but she was not sure about who he really was. As she stood there, looking in the face of wonder, it became clear that she had no right to try to find out. But it did not really matter. All she could do was accept his kindness as another thing to be grateful for.

She closed her eyes. The image of that special place was vivid enough in her mind. She could go now.
She opened her eyes and reeled on the slipping stones towards them and smiled to herself. The only bright color in the whole black and white scene was the red of his scarf.