By The Harbour

“Look – she’s there again!” Ruth nodded her head towards the woman sitting on an upturned bucket by the harbour.

“Where?”

Although they had seen her that morning, Ken did not spot her at first, blended as she was into her surroundings. Her dress was the colour of concrete, shoes as browned as brick. The mustard shawl she wore over her rounded shoulders and head blended perfectly with the rusty yellow bollard beside her. The stone blocked, twice repaired, thrice repointed bridge rising imposin...