Blue Fleck

The light from the sun bounced all over the gaf. The pale pebbles popped white. The crest of each wave shimmered and the liquid in your glass danced. Bending down you take a handful of pebbles and drink in how dry they were. Each one individual, creating a mosaic of fractals. No one the same, no angle between one the same. The tiny disparities between each element went down and down into eternity and darkness. This flash of almost hallucinogenic insight reminded you of your Beggars Run Blue Fleck suit. Woven (up in Yorkshire) with wool and silk, whose patterns never repeated, and criss crossed into the depths of nothingness and the heights of everything. A cloth with a dry handle and versatile in most weathers. Sitting down you turn your focus to the sea, the sea.