OUR FIGMENT
WRITING COMPETITION WINNERS!
Well done to all those who entered. The standard was exceptional!
Runners up can be read at
www.figmentcreativity.co.uk
Beachcombing
Sweeping barefoot across the sands, like a dancer to the gentle music of the sea, a dark slender figure arrives at his temporary canvas. Beneath the barnacle encrusted pier, he lays out a small rectangular black cloth, the corners held down with four up-turned paua shells, their oily greens and blues reflecting the morning sunlight.
He pauses, admiring the blank sands and prepares in his mind the ephemeral beauty which only a few will witness, and none will be able to recreate. Taking his gnarled staff, worn thin and smooth at the top from endless years of etchings, he begins transcribing his imagination into the sand. Large waves and curves appear creating an intricate maze of patterns and never- ending coils, trapping him inside his own image. Leaping with grace and purpose, he escapes one leafy outline only to start the next, his feet leaving no impressions as the image grows.
A small group of onlookers gather on the pier above. Wrapped in woollen scarves and hats to brave the brisk winter, they gaze down at the emerging curiosity with patient expectation. From their unique vantage point they witness the first grains of damp sand tumble as the staff pulls and turns, giving birth to todays unique creation. The low winter sun catches the small furrows casting delicate shadows as the image blooms.
The gentle waves create a faint but soothing rhythm and outlines of seagulls hang in the air as he continues to score and transform the sand. Nestled in the heart of the creation two figures dance, their hands barely touching as they are caressed by the swirling loops of vines and leaves entwining them. Surrounded by his labyrinth of twists and turns, the artist continues to etch his way through the sands until he is dwarfed by the grandeur of his work.
He stands, tired but content with his mornings work. An admiring round of applause is carried to him on the wintery breeze, and accepted with a flourishing bow. As he gathers up the rectangular cloth, now scattered with silver coins tossed down from the pier, the tide sneaks its way toward the edge of the picture. Soon, the sand will reset. The only mementos are pictures in the minds of the timely few who stopped to gaze on this bright winter morning.
by Jennifer Eunson, Dunblane 6 To advertise in thewire t. 07720 429 613 e.
the.wire@btinternet.com
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