Gazing out of the window of the black cab, the light was precise and warm on the leaves; surprisingly so after a summer of grey rain and bare cloud. The sun left a dark outline on the trees in the suburbs, and somehow left me thinking of America, Florida, and forests of red pines I have never In person seen.
On the way back the moon was lusciously fat and white and so close. A red moon later. An eclipse. I cannot see this moon – too many concrete sculptures in the way, multi-storied boxes and tributes to Man’s assumption he can bulldoze, build and talk his way past any obstacle. A cement cocoon.
Outside, in pagan skies, a dragon eats the moon.