gulls, rain and evangelists, 12/July/17

gulls to the left of me, gulls to the right, jackdaws scratch the air, sparrows shuffle-clink their trays full of glasses…….. it could be home… it isn’t…….. where’s home anyway?………
what happens to a raindrop when it lands in the sea?……..
… these things keep me up at night…. perhaps it floats flattened to the surface skin like a deflated dinghy  fending off a briny onslaught into its freshwater membrane endeavouring not to sink or at least sink too soon……. last gasps of oxygen……. to be absorbed and lose all sense of individuality……… of being a single raindrop….. an ocean pockmarked with baby drops of rain, clear-water stains barely bothering to ripple if at all………
on the prom… or promenade, a small, merry and bravely-determined band of evangelists sang evangelical songs bedecked in red jumpers (and it wasn’t even christmas) looking for all intents like a long forgotten folk singing ensemble… they’ve even placed out a few benches, loose mock pews, for an ungrowing meagre audience…….. by now the sun was drifting, neé drifted, aimlessly to the ragged end of another day leaving little of its light or warmth or impression in which to dabble in its wake………. they were offering hot chocolate for free, cunning move and choice on a decidedly autumnal summer eve’….. some passed by mocking scorn into their double-chins, others looked-on incredulous, for some it was just another seaside sideshow quirk following hot, or cold, on the heels of the afternoons Punch and Judy show… a throwback to a land that time forgot…….
……………. gulls lightriding…. caught in the hotels up-lights that shaved the shadows from the painted render making windows seeming haunted…. skimming wings and serenading……..

© robert greig 2017

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