Directions

Directions.

I see colours as directions so Blue makes me think of the South. I grew up on the Sussex coast so Blue is the summer sun shining on the Southern sea. White is the gleam of the chalk exposed in the face of the quarry in the cement works to the North, the dry valley through the Downs on its way to the dark, mysterious Weald beyond. Grey is the East where the boring Kentish industries start while West is best,  the fabled dreaming land where the daily panting steam trains rush through my village to the green holidaylands far away. I stand on the footbridge near the station as they pass below and get hidden in the black belch of the steam and smoke from their hot chimneys through the gaps in the wooden flooring. “Merchant Navy, Schools, West Country” we shout to each other as the monsters pass, boys in short grey trousers. I go home stinking of hot soot for my usual ritual scolding. Above is the clear silver moon shining with lambent light in the late evening.