Grandad called her his five-colour rainbow. She did not think about it while he was still alive; it was his name for her.
But then when the sad days were over it took over her life – a degree, a doctorate, a professorship and, of course, that book. ‘The Five-Colour Rainbow’ was more pre-ordered than read, but those who tried really appreciated the chapter headings and the way it finished with a question.
no sun nor rain
a rainbow arced
sing in the dark
day and night I know you are there
day and night I know that you care
on the motorway
from funeral to airport
a double rainbow
The youngsters were pitching horseshoes on the green. Dino’s caught the peg, caught, spun and settled. The boys stared as a rainbow shone up from where the shoe lay, up, up and down again beyond the horizon of the hills. As one, they stood and walked towards home.
It rained and then the sun
came out. There should have been
a rainbow but
there was not one to be seen.
The petrol on the puddle in the road
would have to do.
Kilcol scooped up the water
and held it in his cupped palm.
His hand shook lightly,
raising gentle waves that flashed
the blue-brown rainbow sheen.
The sun disappeared. Kilcol, bored,
dropped the water and wiped his hand.
The rainbow smeared across the pavement
for a while. Nobody noticed it.
More rain came. No sun.
The flat flagged roof overlooked only by the burnt far hill, no eyes.
The midday sun burning bright at a midsummer angle,
rainbows splitting through the shower spray.
The hissing of salt-smeared skin.
Rain falls from deep blue skies.
Thoughts of rainbows.