Largo Place

 

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Dark shadows under the trees. The main door to the tenement where I used to live propped open with a house plant. People are moving out. Into the cool of the stairwell, the slim wooden bannister curving upwards, spiralling to an Edinburgh sky of undecided mood as clouds flit across the glass. Boxes of things coming down the stairs, taking a breather at the turn of the stair. A a cat lives in the flat now – a wonky flap at the bottom of the door.

 

The Watchie – Summer Catterline

 

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Oil and acrylic on plywood – 41cm x33cm

 

Red earth. Willow trees shimmer, green flashing silver, fish shoaling in the sunlight. ‘Obviously Carols got a few problems’, she says. Borage bees blue buzzing. The sea arcs away to the headland. Joan’s painting on the wall, a gift to the village. ‘Is that the salt ? Don’t have too much’. The harbour silent, the edge of things here. Cow parsley nods in the hot breeze. Small clouds float over felt roofed sheds. Dust rises from the path along the field as skin touches nettle. ‘She’d be better packing it in but that leaves her forever and ever feeling lost.’ The heat heavy scent of gorse, thick, sleepy. Birdsong tunes of then, not now, crackle high in the air suspended on cobweb threads. I look up.