White light and black dress

A sharp light has replaced the dark clouds. It is a light as sharp as a freezer-chilled cloudy lemonade sapping the inside-cheeks and supped between sentences. Or like a shard of glass in a glinting sun in a grassy glen. On my way back to the flat today I was struck by the darkness of the clouds and the long-distance jellyfish tendrils of rain coming this way, enough to stop and take a photograph. By the time I had the image framed in the small camera-monitor the wall of rain was like a giant trawled net and I was about to be caught in it. Now, though, sitting at the round table next to the large red sofa, I can see only sun. The children have gone, so a couple of lights have gone out there, but there is light by and large in the capital. That said, I’ve just been reading a recent report on terrorism by a man they call a specialist. I remember meeting this man one Saturday night across the ocean in an over-heated apartment in the middle of the city’s main island. The report was topical and factual. It is a shame so much of what we read about conflict today is opinion. I am no great expert but it seems we are given only these scraps of opinion to run with and as a result get nowhere, or flag before we reach the first camp. Facts, alas, are what we need. This is perhaps why I like art so much. Opinion is allowed substance there and cracks can be smoothed or exposed. The wounds bleed but seldom kill. Talking of conflict, my 4 year old son has left Cyber Archfiend – one of his Konami trading cards - next to my laptop. Cyber Archfiend looks like a warrior louse. Not even the strongest of creams or combs could kill him, you feel. I better place him by the postcard I received this morning from a dear travelling friend in the north coast of the hot continent. The postcard can be Cyber Archfiend’s magic carpet. They can fly off together while the son is away. The artist wore a beautiful black dress this evening by the way.