Clouds

The clouds are edged with gold as if someone has drawn around them with a highlighter pen, and in between them great gaping tears in the fabric with soft corners where the evening sun shines through, a portal to another place floating away from me inch by inch. I wish I could paint so I could capture the smudged grey-blue of the clouds, delicately illuminated from the centre like a palette brought to life. The contrast between the stormy grey, the pale amber, the sky blue, all shot through with white trails.

I fiddle with my phone, take a few shots and look down, and when I turn back it has gone.

 

Image Credits: Seeta Parmar

Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood

Oryx and Crake. A strange title, right? It sounds like it’s from a made up language, originating on some distant planet in the far reaches of the galaxy. The sense of oddness only intensifies when you open the book and start reading about a strange being named Snowman, seemingly marooned on a desert island in some far off post-apocalyptic wasteland, surrounded by non-human beings that are as alien to him as they are to us.

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