peachpenumbra@googlemail.com
05/05/11 - 2
The sodium light of street lamps only reaches so high, and where its luck runs out tower blocks are stained the blue of old photographs. You’ve a picture of your mum standing under a wash of that very same colour, looking happy and young and not quite the person you recognise. Or perhaps there’s one of you as a child, at a beach or the park, ruddy cheeked and sticky. It’s a shade that only seems to come out in transitions; not a colour to be poured from a tube, but one watered down with passed time.
