Mottled pebbles

There are lots of pebbles that crunch underfoot and make walking hard. The pebbles all seems dark brown, brown and round and crunchy underfoot. But with each step, with each crunch, with each examination the pebbles gain individuality.

There are white ones - some shiny white from the wet of the waves - glowing almost. Some have only white flecks or marbling or clear stripes. Sometimes the whiteness almost appears like a picture, like a face.

Then the black pebbles - very black; ebony black in the wetness. Large and uneven, small and neatly rounded by the waves. And yellow and many different shades of brown and redness that is sometimes ground down remains of house bricks.

Green shafts of rubbed bottle remain in places. Amber looks dull and worthless but reflects against the sun for those that know what they are looking for. Many colours, many shades.

The only bright unnatural colours come from man made items abandoned. Bright blue cleaning bottles and a solitary pink child's sandal; half a green metal spade and endless bear bottle labels. They pollute the natural beauty of the pebbles.

Occasionally a pebble is rescued from its beach side home but as it dries away from the sea it become dull and unspectacular like it can only shine in its wave side domain.

Driving Past

Trees, like image markers on the eyes, rushing past, blinking out the sun momentarily then allowing it to glare back. Blank dark, glare bright. Blank dark, glare bright. Flashing the markers of the journey - in dark and light. Flashing the markers of the journey in calm and pain.

Rushing air past the window; tyres grumbling on tarmac; grumbling and bumping into pot holes - on and on. Distance felt in each flash and grumble. Distance lost in the blink of the eye and the second remembrance of a landmark or place. Endless fields of yellow or corn; waving past in haste. Time goes on.

Journey continues - music blares from the CD player, unheard in the mind even when lyrics are softly murmured; always slightly out of beat; always behind the sounds; always behind the music; always behind the time.

Always behind the time for journey past.

The time for driving past.

Dix