Bambina
He awoke to find Bambina’s side of the bed empty. He hoped she was making tea but it was too quiet. The only sounds were the wood pigeons and the cicadas tuning up their electrical whine. The morning air was dense with scents of frangipani and jasmine riding the wave of humidity. It was too quiet. Zubin had also gone. Well at least that meant she was coming back. He loved waking up in the studio with its milky morning light and last night’s detritus scattered among his work. Dozens of sketches of Bambina adorned the walls and three canvases of her in various degrees of conception and completion. Mobiles of found objects – sea shells, sea glass, sea stones and feathers that she had made were rotating in the light.

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