Rage thrust brush through canvas.
A puncture through three days’ work: portrait of she who had gathered her stuff while he slept. Gone… yet she persisted like thallium poisoning.
Almost serenely he deposited the brush – loaded with the colour of his crappy life – beside the open tube of Prussian Blue.
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration. He even finds it on occasion.