A Bouquet Of Flowers
Bouquets of flowers, each carrying a card, arranged on the dining room table. In the living room the conversation is halting, awkward. They stare at pictures scattered across a coffee table.
Skimming Stones
A man calls, a boy answers, somewhere in the distance a dog barks. Seagulls wheel and dive silently around Browns Point.
His Red Gloves
Fragments, snatches of pictures, like so many postcards; faded views on one side, on the other traces of ink where the words should be.