Sky Green

When I woke up this morning, the sky was the colour of thin slices of cucumber. I drifted in and out of sleep; it deepened into pistachio ice-cream and then ripened to avocado as the sun spread out its rays. By the time I had dressed and stepped into the street, the whole sky was green like a sunlit lawn. Its colour poured into everything and got trapped in puddles and car windows. People walked around with their heads in the air, arms held above their heads with Blackberries and Canons. People stubbed their toes on curbs and walked into signposts and each other, so mesmerised they were by this sky the colour of golden delicious apples.

As the sun set, the sky glowed like fireflies, and copper salts in Bunsen burners, and light falling through leaves in a deep dark forest. Twilight was like the head of a Mallard duck, and as night fell, we dreamt of wine bottles and emeralds, and sports cars in British Racing Green.