Sold a painting today - which is extremely exciting, but too much so as the evening closes in. So I will investigate my excitement further in tomorrow's blog. Tonight I've found some more half formed thoughts which could do with an airing. So here they are...
Scritching. That was the sound - a soft scritching. Persistently pushing, nibbling- wearing away the ground. At first I thought I was hearing things - for when I turned there was nothing to see.
The ground was barren; rocks scattered - the reminants of an old civilisation, or something.
Walking on it seemed louder. Scritch-scritch - as if whatever it was, was becoming more impatient. Again, looking around, I saw nothing - only the whispery sand that scuttled, wind-blown, over the landscape; drifting against rock and brick - submerging history beneath geography. I trudged onward, the sun falling in front of me - the glare bleaching out the horizon.
Scritch! Scritch! The burrowing louder still. I resolved to ignore it - moving onward. The sound began to itch - scritching along my shoulders - finding where sweat swelled then trickled down my spine. I turned. Still the land held nothing - no sign, no semblance of life or presence.
Around me death - desert. The sun beat down on the ground, and nothing survived. Only shadows lay across the floor - strange echoes of what was before - stretching further into the past as the sun sloped down.
I stood - looking... waiting for my past to catch up with me.