PICTURES IN THE AIR (© Words and music by Paul F. Cowlan)

On a visit to Pisa, many years ago, my Dad took frame after frame of ‘wonderful pictures’, continuing to do so until we realised that there was no film in the camera. He died in 2000 and, in a strange way, those pictures in the air were never really lost.

On a trip in stolen time,
far away, with darkness at our heels,
you took photo after photo
on a camera with no film.
Which of those images were real?

Pictures in the air,
the wink of an eye,
laughter in the frame.
Swifter than a thought,
clearer than a dream,
weightless as a candle flame.

Ghosting in the blue,
wings in the sun,
passing like a cloud.
Moment by moment,
day after day,
faces in the crowd.

The years have come between.
You've walked in the fire,
and the flames have called you through.
But although they never were,
those pictures in the air
hold a memory of you.
A memory of you.