Rimnír Quiet Light Fragment 2

Gathering: You stir – not from sleep, but from the hush that follows the warmth of being held – of belonging.

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Gathering

Early morning

Outside, the wren trills through the dew-soft quiet of early morning – her song threading the mist: quick, bright, jubilant.

Inside, you stir – not from sleep, but from the hush that follows the warmth of being held – of belonging.

She asks softly, “Do you hear her – the wren?”

He, half-whispering –

“Like she’s stitching the morning back together.”

He turns toward her and lightly touches her collarbone. 

His fingers trace her shoulder, her neck, the curve of her chin.

– – –

My touch lifts 
your pulse, 

draws you –

to where hush breaks, 
to where breath trembles 

into bloom –

We ripple through 
each other.

You burn 

within me – 

Not fire,

but a slow, 
steady glow.

Your eyes shine.

We draw near,

ease back. 

Drift –

between 

reverence 

and desire.

•

We lie close now, held by a hush quieter than sleep.

She tucks a strand of hair 
from his forehead, rests 

her palm against his chest,
presses into his gentle strength.

She watches him

wonders –

It feels 
almost too sacred 

to name.

She draws 
his hand to her breast, places 

her own over his. 
Her fingers rest lightly

receiving –

She closes her eyes. 

The sound of his voice

not just the words –

settles over her skin.

He sees me. He is with me. And I’m here with him.

Outside, the birdcall fades. 
Inside, the sea air lingers.

•

A gust presses 
in through the open 

window, billowing 
the curtains into a muslin veil.

The garden blurs to a haze –

The room gathers 
the salt-sweet breath 

of sea and air.

On the windowsill, 
ripe peaches nestle 

in a white porcelain bowl. 

They glow amber-red 
in the morning light.

The curve –

of your bare shoulder 
echoes theirs.

•

Afternoon

A brittle light blazes silver off the water, flickers white through the shutters – fans across the tiles before fading into the corners of the room.

– – –

I leave the window 
and return 

to lie beside you.

Your naked back 
glistens moist 

beneath my hands.

There is almost no sound – only your steady breathing.

The ceiling fan whirs 
above us, 

slow, constant, 
cooling the heat.

My eyes trace –

the slip of your curves.

Your neck

Your hips.

You stir –

A slight breeze sifts 
a cool into the room, 

pulls –

us into a long, 
languid drifting.  
  
•  

Evening
  
Moist pearls slip down the fluted glasses, seeping a shadow of damp onto the white damask tablecloth.

From the terrace, the evening air is cool. 

White gauze curtains stir in the sea-hung light, thinning it to a misty blue.

– – –

As you turn 
towards the sea, 

you place your hand 
on mine. 

Your neck glows 
in the lamplight. 

Yesterday’s kisses

rest.

•

Night

We walk to the beach. 

The waves call 
the deep to life 

and we listen –

Songs glint 

phosphor-clear 
as they wash ashore. 

I gather 
its lilt 

into my hands, 

pour 

its lull into yours.

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Next: QL Fragments 3 – 6

Previous: QL Fragment 1

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.

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© 2026 Chris Heape - all rights reserved.

Rimnír index

Rimnír is an Old Norse word for poetic rhythm

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My series of narrative fragments is now complete on Substack.

Rimnír SPOOR Fragments

Rimnír MOON Fragments

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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

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