Moving On

Small boats bob over gentle ripples. Shimmering strings of light sparkle on dark water, pink, blue, yellow, like Christmas. Rocks jut from the shores edge and houses twinkle against the twilight. The air is salty and fresh. She is wondering how best to capture the moment. As she looks across the bay the sound of distant laughter pulls her over the water towards the lights, to the people whose lives are she can only imagine. Clara leans against the low wall and holds up her camera. The warm breeze caresses her bare arms and flutters gently through the length of her hair. Her life feels so far away. Memories of home make her smile. But as the little town glitters beneath the moonlight its heart seems to pulse into her veins. She looks at the image through the lens of her camera and takes the shot. A bird sings close by and the spicy aromas of cooking drift invitingly over the water.

She clips the lens cap back into place and continues along the narrow footpath as it curls around intrusive trees and bends with the sweep of the bay. The cobles are hard beneath the leather soles or her sandals. She glances down and sees a small lizard is skittering along at her side. It stops as she stops. Its little sides puff in and out heavily. She leans forward and looks at it closely.

“Tell me, should I go back or move on?” she asks. For a moment it is still, then, with a sudden flick of its tail it scurries away. She watches as it scuttles towards the small humped bridge and vanishes into the night and into the town. “Onwards it is then.”

liahthorley@yahoo.co.uk