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As the golden Tanzanian sun drops towards the horizon the small fishing boats head home past the large ocean freighters waiting for their turn in the teeming port. Every day through September 2014, while I was in Dar es Salaam, I could watch the evening and morning activity from the balcony as I sip my Chai Masala (spice tea).
It was a healthy reminder to my jet lagged self that I am most certainly NOT the hardest working person (helps keep perspective).
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This evening on the walk home from work, passing the front of the Royal Scottish Academy on the mound, dusk fading into full night, didn't have the tripod with me so I improvised sitting the camera on the handily flat-topped railings and taking a couple of shots on either side of the junction in front of the Academy.
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Peace and quiet of the evening as the sun set behind the French Pyrenees
I'm on holiday in Greece and today has been a very hot day. Too hot even for wearing satin, but now it's evening and it's a lot cooler and much more comfortable. I take the opportunity for a nice girly evening stroll in satin to check out the hotel gardens and enjoy views of the Mediterranean. Look, it's beautiful here with the plants and trees, the sea, the sunset and the wonderfully colored sky.
Evening in Trafalgar Square, London.
On the left is the National Art Gallery, and in the distance the steeple of St Martins in the Field.
She had always had good posture. People often noticed. Sometimes they would ask her things like, "Are you model?" or "Have you ever been a dancer?" And she'd laugh. Because she was so decidely, absolutely not remotely anything like that.
Never had been. Never would be.
In fact, she was a soldier. Not the kind to strut around with automatic weapons, or the kind to wear a uniform. No, she was a secret soldier in a secret battalion of light fighters. Every day, they took on the sun... beating back its piercing rays... losing, inevitably, day after day, from morning to early afternoon. Then they would redouble their efforts and, with a hearty hi-ho, drive the bastard sun back below the horizon.
Each had a different way of celebrating victory. Some drank. Some got high. Some fired imaginary weapons at the sunset, while others engaged in elaborate three- and four- and six-way fornications.
Our girl preferred to just sit back... her back as straight as a carpenter's square... and relish the clean sharp narrow vowelly taste of the word "evening."
She thought of it not as a noun, but a verb. The evening of scores. The evening out of all the world's ridiculous injustices. The land was dark but the sky still light. That's the way she liked it.
Of course it never lasted. That other unseen army, with its fighters for the light, was forever on the march... forever heaving and pulling and hauling and tearing away the darkness through the night. And soon enough the girl's shift would start yet again... as the sky grew pale and pink and soft.
As the evil dawn descended, she would arch her straight straight back and shake off the deep dark pleasure of the night and again take up her light-fighting tools and bend to her unending task.
And the next time someone asked if she was a model, she would say, "Yes." And in her mind she would add "I am a model of necessity, posture and futility."