Gulls; lit from below

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I’m working at home today

Working from home

Working at home

What’s the difference?

Anyway.

In home /

at home /

from home.

I look out of my bedroom window, through the beautiful lungs that are the tree skeletons outside, where small sleepy furry buds shy away from the cold they have emerged into too early, at the rare blue sky whose sun has warmed me this afternoon.

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The sun made me feel lighter, easier, and it made me realise the weight that single whit-grey sheet of sky bears when its worn like a cloak by a place for a long period of time. I’m from a city whose skies are regularly overcast, but the sheer soaring, melting feeling I get when the sun comes out never ceases to amaze me.

I stood in the sunshine on a quiet residential street, smiling up, meeting its face with my viatmin D-starved own.

It’s 5 oclock and it’s still light, guys, it’s light. It’s 5 oclock. Light. 5.

Relief.

Gulls float through the sky like a moving photograph framed by my window, careless and quiet as clouds, above the setting sun,

lit from below.

Their harsh Glaswegian calls which ring out by day are silent now, and there is a new calm grace to their existence, gliding as though by the sea, and content to be so.

Their soft white-brown wings are immaculately smooth-edged and stark agains the backdrop of the darkening blue sky, as the ink of dark creeps slowly slowly through the sheet, dyeing it gradually black; but never true black in a city; rather the kind of purple black that comes with the illumination of a thousand thousand street lamps and car headlights.

And as they swim across my window, their bellies are burnt a beautiful golden brown that only that delicious late winter evening light can give things, my Dad’s favourite kind of light. It seeps into their feathers, drenching them with a pitiful warmth, but a glorious colour.

I think about how gulls’ cries puncture the soundscape of so many cities, and how comforting I find the sound. I makes me feel close to the sea, and reminds me of the feeling of sand between my toes.

Sounds bring places and times closer to us, immersing us in them, bring about that disjointed feeling that this nostalgia triggers.

Bittersweet.

I smile, remembering this soaked feeling from earlier in the afternoon, my skin tingling with glee at the memory of the sunshine.

 

And for a while I am lost in a reverie,

looking up at the gulls,

lit from below.

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