#greywalker crow

Layers on layers, unfolding and enfolding, like mist and fog in the evening.

The sand was warm and wet and cold and dry beneath my feet as I scraped the deep furrows flat again, packing it in with slow and methodical steps. The light in my hand shone, blinking as I directed it slowly around my body, steps as practiced as the balanced beam of light that traced my body.

As various heads turned to look, I became aware that not only was I nude beneath the thin silk robe, but also that my body was much more masculine than I had the last time I stood in this same place. I turned again, the robe fell from my shoulders, now folded and draped around my hips, body moving slow and sensual with the drums and the singer’s high voice as the light flew in arcs around me. 

I blinked.

I was standing on the cobblestone street looking out into the bay. The Bay Proper was just past the bridge to the right, the City gate was behind me also to my right. The stones beneath my feet warmed, and I stood tall, rooted. The cap on my head was thick with salt spray and worn with sailor’s hand and brow. If nothing else, it kept the hair from my eyes. 

The light was dim, from the evening dusk and the smog from the City. Grit streaked my arms beneath the shoved-up loose sleeves of my shirt, the vest hung unbuttoned around me, loose trunks or hose I could not see which fell to the tops of my boots, tucked in. It was the boots against stone that felt familiar, though the earth echoed with the rolling, tossing deck of the ship I’d recently disembarked. 

As I looked out towards the sunset, I could still all-but feel the ropes beneath my roughened hands and the snap of the sails over my head as they filled with air at last. It was those memories foremost in my mind as I turned on my heel and strode up the long hill to my left. The bay was still in sight with all the houses and shops along its outer rim when I reached the pub. My mates were already there, they had a glass for me. I downed it in one go, and off we rolled to the top of the hill... and into the cafe instead. 

Coffee, chocolat, better company than rough sailors might deserve but that was not all we were. Here, the air was finer, and there was poetry and philosophy, and the distant echo of bright flashing light and remembered movements of wrist and ankle, turn and spin-

I blinked.

I was back at the Estate. Again. Nothing in my nose but the scent of fresh cut grass, warm animal fur scent, and the distant roar of machinery in the next field behind ours. I could hear the cows and the goats, felt the air against my skin... 

I blinked.

I was at the Manor. The clear blue pool stretched out in front of me, hedges high enough to block the sight of the horizon. The sun beat down on red brick walls and low smooth white pavement. Somewhere a bird was calling. I could not turn, I could not look, I knew the windows though all draped and all covered would be like eyes. Watching. Watching my every move. I knew the places where the walls allowed passage. I knew the places I could run to in the hedge maze and be safe. I knew the exact spot the pool opened to the maze of waterlogged tunnels and endless twisting secret passages within the house, the grounds, the front park... The low sweeping hills and the high stacked front of the house with its promenade of stairs and walkways. 

I blinked.

I was in the Clearing. 

I had not moved all night. 

I could hear the distant rumble of the trains.

Getting Dancey in Quarantine under black light!