From a Very distant Archive, far, far away. 27.

All this month of July the editorial staff of Bitsnbobs have shut themselves away in the distant archives. They hope to turn up a few gems, but whatever they find THERE will appear HERE.

Some of The Archives are so old that they are labelled – OLD.

Some of The Archives are so new, that they are labelled – OLD.

It’s always been like this.

As Mrs Penny says – time and tide wait for no man.

Grow up.

Get used to it.

Move on.

The Archives are heartless.

The Archives ARE the heart.

Do I write better in this chair or that?

I wonder…

Maybe I don’t write very well anyway, in which case it doesn’t matter where I sit.

So I’ll sit here – the light is better here this evening  (summer, hot, late, alone etc, etc ).

……

It all began with the butterfly…..

No, it began with the phone call…..

The tattoo – it was the tattoo…..

Probably it began before all that - with a message sent and the thoughts that accompanied the sending – it’s usually so….

But let’s start with the butterfly.

It was surprising – three layered in a way butterflies never are; an almost human form, curled and sleeping.

There were colours – bright orange and summer yellow, leaf like  - and everything held in miniature, maybe in a can.

I was taking photos, but I was speaking to my niece.

“What was the tattoo of?” she asked; “The one I had in summer?”

I was trying to describe the butterfly to her, trying to make her realise how amazing it was – but she insisted.

“The tattoo?”

I remember it was on her shoulder  - (it isn’t) – but surely this butterfly was more important?

“An angel!” – I had remembered.

And the butterfly was gone.

Then I was by the ocean.

And the butterfly was there again.

But..

She was a woman, her back was toward me, she was black (trousers) and white (shirt); she carried a small leather bag on her back.

She was facing the light and the light was strong.

The light was radiant, blinding and I knew something was about to happen.

I fumbled with my camera; the intensity of the light bleached every detail from the scene.

My camera could not cope; I was too slow.

Her bag spilt open and two magnificent wings unfurled, enveloping the light, became the light, was the light.

It started without light.

It finished as light.

She was gone.

I woke.