The way of light on water
It blinks and bubbles, glances and glimmers; such is the way of light on water. I saw a photo of raindrops today, blurry circles of white against black, the different sizes of light, the chaos of perfection. It looked like light on water.
In reality, from far away, water looks solid, impenetrable. The light doesn’t glance down into the depths of the Thames, it doesn’t dance on the surface of the chalky blue coastal waters. The sea is flat, batting away the blam of sunshine. Light is shut out and the depths are murky.
But, here, in the kitchen, the water sparkles in fountains, gushes in dew drops on rose petals, pools in thin glasses, still upon the table. At home there is a rainbow that catches the light, flings it about the room, sends colours into spider corners. Squares shift across the floor, slow as snails on the door at night.