imagined colours

stationary fairground ride close up

The post Fairground Colours, written some years ago, includes the phrase “There’s little sadder than a fairground by daylight”.

But that was in Spain, where the heat and dazzle of the sun drain the bright neon from the rides and leave drab pastels instead.

Here in the UK, the light has a different quality.

This morning, there wasn’t much sign of sunshine as I walked between the great motionless machines of the local Mop Fair. But even the unlit bulbs seemed relatively bright and the multi-coloured chrome of the parked dodgems still glistened.

parked dodgem cars

I’ve posted this poem a number of times before, but is seems appropriate, so perhaps it will bear repeating:

Reflection

On rainy nights the streets
are twice as bright. Light runs
in rivulets down pavements, streams
down gutters, swirling into storm drains, drips
from balconies and falls, dimpling
puddles.

If it weren’t so late and so cold and damp out there now, I could go and see how dazzling the rides are on a wet night. I think I’ll settle for imagining it.

stationary fairground ride close up

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

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