Even the first time Thomas saw her, he didn’t actually see her. She was the sort of person you only caught in your peripheral vision, off to the side. He had seen her sitting on the stone wall that looked out towards the sea. The sun was setting and he was going from somewhere to somewhere else. That was when he had spotted her, when he was really noticing the sunset, but by the time he got to the wall, to see why she was sitting there all alone, she wasn’t there anymore, having vanished with the sunset.

The twilight lingered along time, as it does in summer, especially around the solstice, but although he looked up and down the walkway, he couldn’t see her, despite no one else being around for her to blend into the crowd with.

For days after that, he thought of her dark hair that had danced on the wind.

But there had been no wind. When he replayed it in his mind, it was the sound of a sigh he had heard, before she vanished, like the sound a balloon makes loosing air.

He had no friends to ask about her, as he had only just moved here, to be with his gran. He had gone from a world of modern buildings, all the same, in Redding, to a world where coaches couldn’t drive down the small streets and would get stuck between the buildings, in St. Ives. It suited his gran and he supposed he would have to make ti suit him as well, for now.

The house was not in the picturesque part of town, with those cobblestone streets that the website for St. Ives raved about. It was just an older attached house, with a small garden in the front and walled garden in the back. His room here was really no bigger than the one he had had in Redding, and he had his computer and all, but his friends were off doing things without him.

—

The next time Thomas saw the girl was again just before sunset. The clouds were sitting on the horizon, but were letting through a slip of sunlight. He rushed over to her.

She turned as he approached her face seemed to shift, as if it were trying to come into focus.

“Hi,” was all he could think to say, as he plopped himself beside her, his back to the sea. He was trying to look into her eyes, that seemed to be reflecting the see, almost as though he were looking through her to the sea. He had been thinking of all the things he wanted to say to her, and here she was, and he was having a hard time thinking of all the clever bon mots.

One of the kids his age, passed by, probably on their way to a football game. He must have looked at them, because he was no longer looking at her, and he heard that soft sigh, and in the instant he turned back, she was gone.  This time, however, there was a single feather, black-blue as as large as his hand. It was irredencent in the single light given by the street lanmp that had switched on. He sat on the wall, in the twilight, staring at it.

There were no birds around, not even bird sounds. The twilight was oddly quite, not even the gulls were calling. It must have been low tide, as teh surf sounded distant and far away.

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