Exquisite, dainty layers.
A golden road, winding round and round, tucking into itself in a nest of warm dough.
Still, glistening, as the sun melts upon its surface.
Rising, gently, to the occasion.
Crisp, yet soft.
And rich enough that you only need one with your morning coffee.
Inspired by my 1am snack!
Eyes wide.
Awake.
They are wonderful eyes. The small lines travelling from the pupil to the edge of the iris, so fine, so perfect in their tangled journey outwards. And from afar, so mesmerising.
The black hole in the middle of this emerald city expands, and contracts, and expands again. And when her face is so close to his, it is so wide that the iris is a slim ring – a jade moat between the black fortress, and the milky sea beyond.
She knows he is smiling without looking at his mouth, because the skin at the corners of these windows to the world, to the soul, crinkle a little.
And she is at peace.
Today is a real Monday of a day, folks.
Nobody in the office wants to talk. All conversation is terse and halted. Stumbling and awkward.
The air is heavy and thick, and breathing is difficult. The heat pounds outside on the glass, in that silent scheming way it has. Condensation forms a layer of sweat on the lips of windows, and the small puffs of air we get through the slim cracks, made so because this country is an infrastructure of Health and Safety, are few and far between.
Alex uses two screens, her hazel eyes scanning first one and then the other. Her long neck pulls her head sideways, almost like an inquisitive sparrow, but there is a look of tense determination on her face. I feel irritated every time I look in her direction, so I don’t.
She always has work to do, and when she doesn’t she actively seeks it. She is like a badger sniffing out of its set. A mouse tottering to and fro. A beaver stacking wood. A long neck waving here and there, alert and watching, snapping up a job the moment it comes through. Scavenging. She is an honest working person but she drives me mental with her oblivious morality.
And the Woman Who Laughs is wearing jodhpurs today. Jodhpurs. And a waistcoat. And a cowboy hat. Indoors. She might as well have bells hanging from her hems.
The fields in the distance sizzle with heat. The sun shimmers on the green, a lazy haze over the slopes. Even the birds seem too tired to chirp. And minuscule cars on the distant hills glint brightly in the sun as they wind around the curling country roads. I contemplate drowsing in my car for half an hour, but the heat in there is ten times worse.
A yawn.
A clatter.
Keyboards clacking away.
A laugh, hushed.
A murmur.
A conversation in the far end of the office.
Hello. I have a query today.
Goddamnit these people never answer the phone!
I would like to go home now please.
Ocean Bream 