Late September

Still life was the challenge of the new term.

Maria, whose yellowed fingers would later

take the charcoal from my hand and crush

the burnt willow, watched patiently, waiting

for some pause by the newly crowned students.

Art was now under our feet and in the easels, the empty

walls and the hum of the room. It was in the leaded windows high above

and the light from a low sun that danced and flickered

to the pulse of the outside world. Maria gave the lesson.

We had been given choice; a box filled with

ageing fruit and a variety of misplaced crockery

that was grabbed at and shared amongst the crowd.

Maria passed me an apple and asked me to imagine

its core and the taste of its flesh. To ignore the shape

and discover its weight, its science, its history.

Her dress shone like neon in the light. Marks were made

on paper; the hall became quiet. Winter was upon us.