Rimnír Quiet Light Fragment 1
Floating: The sea gleams – dazzling under the midday sun. A stillness lies over the landscape, broken only by the whir of cicadas.
Floating
I’m floating.
The sea gleams – dazzling under the midday sun.
Heat shimmers across the bay. A thin haze softens the distant mountains.
Honey coloured, sandstone houses huddle on the terraced slopes, nestle among olive trees and pines.
A stillness lies over the landscape, broken only by the whir of cicadas.
– – –
Bougainvillea spills
pink across a shed roof.
The olive trees stand twisted
in the red-dust earth.
A vine-shaded terrace leads
to a courtyard where
lemons hang
bright –
against the limestone walls.
Water trickles
cool –
continuous.
Inside, the house holds
its own hush. Shutters temper
the light. Shadows gather
beneath the furniture.
A bowl of oranges
glows –
on a scrubbed table.
•
The light fractures
The silence tears
Shadows flood
the floor, dragging
a stench with them.
I stagger
into the garden
into the bloody roar
of trench warfare.
Flares burst
across –
the night sky
hiss –
down into mud.
Artillery thunders.
Trees split. Barbed wire snarls. The radio crackles.
We charge.
Shouts. Cries.
Fear’s raw confusion –
Gunfire. Stumbling. Falling.
Some crawl back. Others lie still.
Most are lost.
Mud. Blood.
The dead scattered around me.
•
I jolt awake,
breath caught.
The dark spinning –
A voice cuts through.
“Daniel. Wake up. Wake up.”
A hand steadies me.
I open my eyes – gasping, drenched.
Michael.
“Daniel,” he whispers.
“You’ll wake the others. Try to breathe.”
He crouches
one hand –
on my forehead.
Leaves it there.
Artwork: Chris Heape
Rimnír Quiet Light Fragments Over many years, my writing has increasingly become an inquiry into those moments of everyday life that quietly shape us, yet often pass unnoticed. A gesture. A silence. A glance. A hand resting on another’s shoulder. The small relational events through which meaning gradually comes into being. How can I explore this further using lyrical, literary experiment? This new series, Rimnír Quiet Light Fragments, continues that inquiry through new works composed primarily from my novel Quiet Light. They are not intended to retell its narrative, but to distil moments that can stand independently, allowing each fragment to reveal its own quality of attention. From time to time, other fragments, sharing the same emphasis on the relational, will be composed from other sources. Each fragment asks a slightly different question, yet all return to the same underlying inquiry: What becomes perceptible when we attend faithfully to the ordinary moments through which our lives are quietly transformed? My hope is that the Rimnír Quiet Light Fragments might gently draw our attention towards something equally easy to overlook: The quiet dignity of human presence.
© 2026 Chris Heape - all rights reserved.
Rimnír is an Old Norse word for poetic rhythm
My series of narrative fragments is now complete on Substack.
Rimnír SPOOR Fragments
Rimnír MOON Fragments
Quiet Light
My novel Quiet Light is now complete on Substack.
Quiet Light – a novel of moral reckoning, quiet resistance and silent courage.
Quiet Light Synopsis and Index
I consider floating to be one of the most peaceful states of being. Somewhere between memory and reality. Somewhere between a dream our own minds have fabricated and the reality that keeps crushing us. A place where neither world asks anything of us. Only to drift.
All of this is powerful, but you know what struck me the most? The scrubbed table. Can’t say why exactly. Just wanted to share that with you because I know how we all tinker with these details. It’s a truly wonderful poem for how it shows PTSD through such an everyday moment, how it shows the way the survivor must suppress the experience over and again for the sake of other’s peace, May I say the Peace they fought to preserve. Thank you for this and your service, if this is your story.