A little sunshine

Some moments are like a rare, rainbow-coloured shell amidst a lot of dirty sand, bits of plastic, and dead sealife that cling to your instep in a receding tide. You stomp, trying to free your feet from the clutter and the discomfort, like that pea under the mattress, and put out your hand to dislodge that thing between your toes, and there's a little sparkle in your palm. You came here hoping to erase your mundane memory of yet another day in the life of X, thinking that the splash of water and the sight of softly folding, grey foam would cleanse your brain of the missed deadline, the boss's fading oldface, the stacks of paper, and the security guard's tired "good night madam". And it almost does. That thing you saw, that little bit of sunshine at 8.30 pm, somebody sent it for you from the depths of the green-blue-grey water, churning millions of pieces of floating garbage, to redeem your dreary day, to lend you that briefest of eternity when your soul fleetingly winged out of you, to tell you that the Creative Cursor writes, and having writ your smile, moves on to write another's.