Beams of Light

I take my time as I walk in the park beside the art gallery, I keep to the perimeter fence, following its line as though it's leading somewhere other than round in circles. The park is sun-dappled and warm and this seems strange because I'm still wearing my winter coat. Eventually, if they don't change a little, all things become misplaced. There is a sign to say that the park closes at dusk - I can never keep up with dusk, it is forever slipping out of grasp. So many things in life seem to slip out of my grasp. Maybe, like beams of light, they were never really within it.

As I look at the sky, I imagine I'm falling into a deep valley permeated by light, as though it contains the sun. As I fall further it becomes much darker and the light is reduced to one beam, a single struggling spotlight that has travelled so far to get here. There are other people who reside in the valley and they treat this beam as a deity, dance around it in worship and their customs are governed by its trajectory.

I stop walking in circles and exit the park, squinting as the sun pushes its way through the canopy of leaves overhead. A bird calls. Crocuses and daffodils push their way through the grass. It's not yet dusk, not today anyway.