A monochrome mooring of black barges edged the
bank of a silver-sheened canal, mercury disturbed only by the slow-unfurling
wake from a stately swan, unveering even when it lifted and readjusted its
wing, smoothly efficient as royalty exiting a carriage.
We paused to watch. I slid my arm around you, refraining
from breaking the silence, recalling what you’d said about swans mating for
life. Emulating its elegant efficiency I slid my hand into my pocket, fingered
the smoothness of what lay within.
The only alteration I wanted to my life was to add a splash
of scarlet to the scene.
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