There was a pleasure in living without a defence. Without walls, and attitude. In gliding from situation to situation. Why hadn't she tried this before?
Snagging at the curl of bacon fat from her sandwich, Lerida looked out over the calm waters that lapped at the dock. Gulls swooped overhead, crows cawed from light posts further on down the cobbled street, and a kite hovered on the air, from where she sat a prism of red and dark blue, stringless, a pattern floating by invisible means, content to be pregnant with the wind, to soar.
Pulling out a tomato she nibbled on it slowly, a smile fashioning beestung-lips into a private, lingering grin. It was just lovely. Like this.
She looked down to her lap where the brown paper bag was, where the crusts of her bread lay pulled into pieces, left overs, for the avian ones. And tossing out a bit here and there, first the white gleam of gull came closer, and eventually the cautious crow, to mingle below the bench, entreating her to company at the offering. She watched the birds closely. The crow frightening the gulls as soon as it landed, proud chested and regal, giving a flap of its inky wings as it waddled over for a piece of grain. A gull with a missing leg giving a screech and fleeing. Submissive.
She tossed a piece of bread to the scared one, watching as it hesitated and then snatched the bit, and then with a raising of its near featherless back, took to the afternoon sky, away, and pleased with its steal.
The singer than looked to the crow. It twitched and shook its head, silently watching and appraising its rivals.
Lerida let out an unexpected sigh and looked back to the sky, to the one legged gull which had taken perch on a wooden post, upended, by some rocks. To the waves which crashed further up on the crags, and then to the street behind her.
Snagging at the curl of bacon fat from her sandwich, Lerida looked out over the calm waters that lapped at the dock. Gulls swooped overhead, crows cawed from light posts further on down the cobbled street, and a kite hovered on the air, from where she sat a prism of red and dark blue, stringless, a pattern floating by invisible means, content to be pregnant with the wind, to soar.
Pulling out a tomato she nibbled on it slowly, a smile fashioning beestung-lips into a private, lingering grin. It was just lovely. Like this.
She looked down to her lap where the brown paper bag was, where the crusts of her bread lay pulled into pieces, left overs, for the avian ones. And tossing out a bit here and there, first the white gleam of gull came closer, and eventually the cautious crow, to mingle below the bench, entreating her to company at the offering. She watched the birds closely. The crow frightening the gulls as soon as it landed, proud chested and regal, giving a flap of its inky wings as it waddled over for a piece of grain. A gull with a missing leg giving a screech and fleeing. Submissive.
She tossed a piece of bread to the scared one, watching as it hesitated and then snatched the bit, and then with a raising of its near featherless back, took to the afternoon sky, away, and pleased with its steal.
The singer than looked to the crow. It twitched and shook its head, silently watching and appraising its rivals.
Lerida let out an unexpected sigh and looked back to the sky, to the one legged gull which had taken perch on a wooden post, upended, by some rocks. To the waves which crashed further up on the crags, and then to the street behind her.