The garage door is closed. But at the foot of the roller shutter, in the middle where the concrete floor dips, there’s a gap. It’s dark inside.

I imagine light filling, and spilling from, the garage.
I imagine light, behind the door.

pin-pricks piercing the musty black of a shuttered room
hint of peachy glow: dawn
sodium streetlight aura on wet tarmac
restless, writhing firelight shading skin to amber
a bank of blinders
stadium lights in a city skyline
acid fizz of neon
flash, flare, and sparkle of sunlight on sea
moonrise: silver spreading across a pine forest
blood-red glow of sun-seared eyelids
shin light beams hanging in a low haze
squiggled rays in a swimming pool
red, red and amber, green, amber, red again
glimmer behind grey rain clouds: looks like it’s brightening up
golden hour
patio lights on suburban shrubbery
a slow, slow fade
Minty Donald
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