A Descent of Colours

I know, I’m a tease. I like to use my blog as a testing ground, a sounding-field for bits of fiction I’m working on. It’s interesting to see who comments, who hits ‘like’, and who doesn’t. Sometimes, it’s just about getting it out of my system and seeing how the words look.

Kind of like the person who throws cooked spaghetti at the wall to see if it will stick, and declare it done if it doesn’t slide off.

At any rate, here’s a bit that just flowed from somewhere. Try it on.

Tell me if it moved you or made you yawn. Could you see the colours?

Thanks.

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Walker turned away from the cob barn and let the others herd the sheep and chickens into their new home. He turned toward the lake. The sun had just begun its descent and slid toward the horizon, saying its daily farewells in a chorus of yellows and oranges. The water picked up the colors and replied in an echo so intense that Walker found himself unable to tear his eyes away. The sunset was doubled, mirrored, and for just a minute, Walker was able to forget about the pandemic, forget for just a moment about all of the people who couldn’t see the colors he did. He forgot that the little community of Eden might be one of the last communities in the province. For just a minute he didn’t have to think about survival or security or keeping animals alive so they could feed him.
There was only the sun, and himself.

 

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