Three strands have been intertwined to pull in different directions. They are red, green and blue and now lie there, knotted. 


Earlier, I lay on my back by the poolside—I did not want to swim. Reflected on the still water was the skylight, patterned with unswept leaves and the fainting shadow of the trees. 


Later, I awoke, not knowing I had been asleep. 


Now, this daze has turned into night, as heavy rain patters outside.


I have a pair of polarised sunglasses which on a bright day such as this prove to be useful. Without them, the blue sky, the green grass and the yellow flowers would all lack lustre, overexposed under the three o’clock sun. With them, however, I am able to appreciate the hill’s expansive expressivity. The top is where I stand, my back turned from the city, so that I am facing the ascension. The air is lucid, cleaning my lungs as I look around. I wonder if someone should have told Edith Piaf about la vie en polarised before she wrote La Vie en Rose. I doubt she would have preferred that rose-coloured filter today, the scene falling flat under the colour distortions of the pink hue. The lemon-flowers, delicately encased in their needly beds, or the stretching curvature of the sky, tucking away in the edges of vision, would be lost. Testing the superiority of  the polarised world, the sunglasses are raised to my head. Indeed, the grassy swells are now sea-wind-washed, so I let them drop back to my nose. The blowing wind regains vigour, the swells once again swirl and the grass on the hill is greener again. In its intentionality, the panorama is as it was: unequivocally decorative. 


My gaze deepens, passed the dip and up the hill beyond, through the blooming bushes and over the coastline—fixating on the blue blurring the open sea and sky. Clarity contains the industrial fishing ships, floating still. Recently, I have gotten into the habit of wanting to be on one of these boats. The gentle rocking seems appealing. It could be nice to be gently rocked…and breezed sprayed with salty gusts. Realistically, though, I should also be thinking about the possibility of nausea, as going through this motion can also make me sick. Perhaps, a better scenario would be to be a boat, so that I could enjoy buoyancy. Then, I remember, that I too easily get cold and would inevitably sink to the bottom. 


Yet, later on it will be too warm, when I find myself encased, looking at the hill from indoors. This nausea will remain in the pit of my stomach and the back of my throat. Even after I’ve pulled back the covers and pulled them back up, taken a sip my water and put down the cup. I know.


I will turn off the light.