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Charlotte Williams, 16 Mar '14

The windowsill was cluttered with an assortment of everyday items such as coke cans and empty chewing gum wrappers, knick knacks such as the jars, each filled approximately a third of the way with pennies and the odd five pence piece, and sentimental pieces such as the cactus and the flowering Venus Fly Trap. The window was cracked about five inches, extended out as far out as was made possible by the design, and captured in it’s dirty white frame a portrait of what was essentially the entire town.

The scene at hand was Reading, England just subsequent to beautiful sunset. It was spring and the day had been so glorious it could easily have been mistaken for a summer day. Of course, as a result of this, when the sun descended to kiss the horizon, there had been explosions of yellow, red, orange streams of blinding light that ignited the entire sky; a sky that, for the most part, was free of cloud aside from the odd thin wisp that appeared here and there, much like the first gentle strokes on a blank canvas.

A moment is not a logical nor adequate measurement of time as a moment is both subjective and restless, but what I can only describe as a ‘moment’ passed, as a significant but undefined length of time where I drank in the sky with an odd calmness; a clarity, if you will, and after this moment had passed, the horizon quickly being the metamorphosis from scarlet and pink and orange to a faint purple that resonated for more than a moment. Call it two. There is something about the lighting at this time that makes the trees and buildings al black which intensifies the light that prevails over the small mountains behind the town. From my sixth floor flat, the trees are appropriately skeletal, not having recovered from Autumn, and seem to stretching fingers to the sky; reaching, grabbing, clawing.

A lonely aeroplane swam slowly across the hastily darkening blue section of the sky, leaving a fine, fluffy white trail in it’s path which faded as easily as it was made. This was significant to me. The vision of this one aeroplane in such a vast space of sky, alone and unaccompanied by clouds or other machines, was breath-taking for me. Baffling, even. I just was overwhelmed with a feeling of small – however, not of insignificance. I began to think about how there was at the very least a hundred people on that aeroplane yet from the ground, from my then pitch-black bedroom window, it looked like I could balance it on the tip of my finger as it soared through the sky. I then thought about shades. About purple to yellow to green to blue to a darker blue and this is my sky right then. This is my roof but not my limit. So many shades that it would seem foolish to claim that the sky was blue; the simplicity of that seemed ridiculous to me in that moment. My sky was much more than just blue.

Comments · 1

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  • Charlotte Williams said...

    I have three essays due so naturally this is what I've done with my evening.

    • Posted 6 years ago