The many soft and silent footsteps walked up Church Street on to North Hill. They walked below me in slow motion, where from the top of my garden I could look down on to the small street. The winter sun shone down on the procession of blank expressionless faces as they all walked together in a pace of solidarity and regard. Out of respect they had closed the factory today for Paul’s funeral.
A SNAZZY TALE.
I can never tell what picture will emerge when I start applying paint to a blank canvas. It is a bit like writing poetry, words come from nowhere. When I start to paint, there is no former image in my mind. The colours guide me. There is no such place as Hill Town. However the picture reminded me of Minehead, in Somerset England, where I used to live on the hill with my late husband Paul.