St Andrew’s Square in the sun (2)

A woman with a night-black ponytail strides across the square, one arm cradling a ginger-headed baby, the other hand holding a parasol. The shade falls carefully on the babe. The woman squints as she passes the young boy crosslegged on the grass. His gaze, and face, follow the crane’s reaching sweep across the sky and he gently overbalances, a portrait of surprise. Now, lying on his back as the grass tickles his ear, he listens to the tick-ticking of the sculpture students chip-chipping at their stone. Tourists, each with two bags, stop heavily by the sculptors and smile. Their holiday is beginning.

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