a pearl-white crescent moon precariously dangles above a blazing horizon.
somebody has thrown lead-free red and yellow paint at the sky, and it
is dripping all the way down its hypnotic blue walls. thankfully they
took notes in class; amongst all that colour they have not spoiled it
by adding too many PowerPoint animations, but simply dotted a lone
star underneath The Crescent. as I watch, this solitary feature has
also started to drip. this dreamscape has been painted from a rooftop
in a 15th century stone village, which in its modern-day guise has
procured a daunting display of stealth and managed hide its rugged
face from the scourge of commercialism. the valley far below is,
paradoxically, impossibly close. it feels like the stone village is
levitating; some kind of magic must be keeping it in place on the
cliff edge. viewed through not-yet-invented Chrono-glasses, I can see
Homo Sapiens making the transition from hunter-gathering to farming
for the first time some 10 000-odd years ago. this abyss was forged
open as an after-thought when the great Rift Valley decided to emerge
and tear the Earth a proverbial 'new one'. as light fades the colours
start making their ascent into the night. the stars begin their
inching twist across an obsidian sky, and sleeps comes to whisk me
away into yet another dreamscape.
