Three Images, Occluded, Bared

One of my favourite things to do is to write short, little prose pieces; observations, fiction and sometimes combinations of the two. Here are three I thought would work well together.

- A narrow band of light curling around your hand curled around a cup of coffee. it ends in a squeal, a hush and then a cloud burst of goldfinches.

- I skim a stone across the Lagan and it turns into a seagull, and then a stone again before freezing, mid-air. An hour passes by and to the naked eye it remains, undeniably, a stone, but through my binoculars I see an abandoned caravel. Still frozen and no wind, not even a breeze, and yet its sails stream and across its bow trails a single bead of light, wayward.

- She woke this morning from a dream where I was going street to street, house to house, freeing trapped bees.