Red on green, soft black

The coat stood out against the dying grass on the hillside. Anyone passing would have seen it.

Nobody passed.

She shrugged the coat back onto her shoulders and turned her gaze to the sky, away from the tree that leaned from the North Sea wind. Her jaw was gently set, as if the clouds troubled her at first. Then her face smoothed and her soft eyes saw the distance, saw the future.

(Inspired by http://www.broaddaylightltd.co.uk)

Volare… Nel blu dipinto di blu…

I carried you inside me and now I carry the weight of your dreams on my shoulders. I shall not buckle. I shall not fall. They will not break me.

Dreams should be weightless, should be weight-free, should lift you up and take you onward, into the blue, into tomorrow. But as I sit and watch you sleep, on your mother’s young shoulders your dreams lie heavy.

And as I walk along the clifftop path, you sit on my shoulders singing Volare. (Sing, mummy, sing.) I can see the mountains of Albania beyond the blue, beyond the sea and the sky. Volare.