Dancing in the light of the dawn

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Abstract

heard drinking coffee and having breakfast in the harbour inn. The man stayed outside, alone. From the shadows, he watched as the two rowers in oilskins moored the small boat along-side the quay. The yellow of their jackets an accent against the monochrome backdrop of the early morning sea and sky.The muffled sound of conversation was momentarily louder as the oilskins entered the building and let the old wooden door slowly swing shut behind them. The smell of coffee; always a reminder of better times.Their yellow jackets were hanging on the pegs by the door. The man hung his black woolen cape alongside.The room was warm and damp. Condensation on the windows. Condemnation in the air.The two incomers were sitting in the corner, still waiting for their coffee. The man approached. He stood behind an empty chair. No words were spoken. He was signalled to sit.Coffee was brought. An extra cup for the man. Still no words.The man took a small package from his pocket. He slowly very deliberately

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and carefully unwrapped the small sculpture before the incomers. It was a small marble disc, like a medal or a coin, with the head of a horse as its emperor.The smell of coffee, and of bacon and spiced eggs. The food had arrived. The servents were unnoticed. All eyes on the medallion.The smaller of the pair, a woman, touched the medallion. She caressed it and turned it over in her hand. She looked the man in the eye and placed it face down. It now showed a hawk.The transaction was over, breakfast was over, and the two men left. The yellow oilskins glistening in the hazy rain. Coffee never smelt so good.There was a silhouette of a woman in a black cape standing on the quay. She was looking out to sea. It was warmer now, the misty rain was blowing gently in the morning breeze, welcoming the new day.The sailing ship was still moored in the bay and a small rowboat was about halfway towards it.The woman turned to walk back towards the lights of the village; she was smiling.</article></body>

A short story

There was a silhouette of a man standing on the cliffs looking out to sea. It was cold, and still, as the early morning light started to reveal the world.

A sailing ship was moored in the bay and a small rowboat was about halfway to shore.

The man started along the cliff-top path towards the handful of lights around the harbour. He scowled as he walked briskly in the half-light.

The atmosphere in the village was subdued, the day barely started, a light har lingering around the water’s edge. A few people could be heard drinking coffee and having breakfast in the harbour inn. The man stayed outside, alone. From the shadows, he watched as the two rowers in oilskins moored the small boat along-side the quay. The yellow of their jackets an accent against the monochrome backdrop of the early morning sea and sky.

The muffled sound of conversation was momentarily louder as the oilskins entered the building and let the old wooden door slowly swing shut behind them. The smell of coffee; always a reminder of better times.

Their yellow jackets were hanging on the pegs by the door. The man hung his black woolen cape alongside.

The room was warm and damp. Condensation on the windows. Condemnation in the air.

The two incomers were sitting in the corner, still waiting for their coffee. The man approached. He stood behind an empty chair. No words were spoken. He was signalled to sit.

Coffee was brought. An extra cup for the man. Still no words.

The man took a small package from his pocket. He slowly very deliberately and carefully unwrapped the small sculpture before the incomers. It was a small marble disc, like a medal or a coin, with the head of a horse as its emperor.

The smell of coffee, and of bacon and spiced eggs. The food had arrived. The servents were unnoticed. All eyes on the medallion.

The smaller of the pair, a woman, touched the medallion. She caressed it and turned it over in her hand. She looked the man in the eye and placed it face down. It now showed a hawk.

The transaction was over, breakfast was over, and the two men left. The yellow oilskins glistening in the hazy rain. Coffee never smelt so good.

There was a silhouette of a woman in a black cape standing on the quay. She was looking out to sea. It was warmer now, the misty rain was blowing gently in the morning breeze, welcoming the new day.

The sailing ship was still moored in the bay and a small rowboat was about halfway towards it.

The woman turned to walk back towards the lights of the village; she was smiling.