Memory object
Salvaged
Curious, how people flit in and out of memory, sometimes a vague insubstantial presence, at other times crystal clear.
There was about him a brittle dangerous energy not quite contained, forever threatening to erupt, spill over into aggression and violence.
Salvaged
‘Choose a good flat stone, like this one. Weigh it in your hand, feel how it sits between finger and thumb. Now aim low, catch the water a glancing blow.’
Salvaged
It began like this.
He was sixteen, maybe seventeen, and determined to go to sea, sail across the Atlantic to see his brother in Chicago.
Flying Free
A boy sits on the pavement near the entrance to the pier. He clutches a length of twine, to which is tethered a pink balloon, whipping, cracking in the wind. His parents stand next to him.
Always Here
Sparse grey hair, weathered skin, stained baggy trousers. His big toe pokes out of his right shoe, the left is split along the outer edge, the heel missing.
Stepping Out
Through this train window I see bare winter fields; horses, houses, deserted stations, tracks and pathway; a green fence disappearing into water logged ground.
Skimming Stones
A man calls, a boy answers, somewhere in the distance a dog barks. Seagulls wheel and dive silently around Browns Point.