A scene runs through my mind on replay. I hope you will allow me the frivolousness of the text and images - a simple wandering through time and imagined lives based on this island in the Spring and far too much Jane Austen.
He pushes forward to his love in her country manor home.
This woman waits in a dress the colour of robins eggs, her hair a strawberry blonde, with long curls cascading across porcelain skin. Delicate shoulders support her gown and the weight of the world as she frets over the unknown arrival time of her forest wanderer.
Her eyes, the blue of tropical seas remain slightly red at their rims. She has no more tears to shed and will confront him on sight, after he dotes on her sufficiently.
-Gillian Cornwall, c. 2013.