Emily sat back on her heels and surveyed her work, the dark soil was damp, and smelt wonderfully of the joys to come. a plump pink worm wriggled for shelter, and she heard the chiff chaff in the beech tree and for a moment revelled in the feel of change in her heart.
the sun was warm on her back as she bent to plant another small seedling, a silken stitch in the tapestry of colour in her mind. beyond the small stone house the hills were crystal clear against the sky... below the scree new green was showing, and the waterfalls showed lacy white against the rocks she knew so well.
in the distance the loch shone like a blackened mirror... the lilies rocked gently amongst the ripples that lapped the sides of the old dinghy, she loved to row accross to a small cove where the grass was soft, and would cradle her sobbing body until the tears stopped.
beyond the little farmstead where new lambs wriggled happy tails in an ecstasy of feeding, the white heads of cottongrass shone as the wind riffled down from the hill, bog myrtle showed pale green, a promise of the tangy scent that would lie over the hills in spring and summer.
a bee passed...the sound of sheep on the hill and the small stream close by sang comfort as she finished planting this fragile thread of new life...for a few seconds clouds shut out the sun, Emily shivered, would this inner chill always remain... picking up the trowel and the empty plant tray she went down to the house feeling the loneliness close around her.
as dusk fell and the sky became a soft wash of pink and grey she stood in the window and watched birds go home, heard the oyster catchers on their way upstream, remembered his delight in those smart black and white, golden billed birds, with their clear piping call as they passed upriver each evening.
fighting desolation she put on her coat and walked up to the old arched bridge over the river, as usual she dropped their sticks into the sweeping water, and waited on the other side for them to appear...he usually won...looking into the curling current she waited for the answer...but she knew it already...
with a sigh she turned to walk home, lifting her head she noticed the brightness of the evening star...felt the crisp promise of frost, and knew she must cover the fragile new plants...
pim claridge
Strathyre Bridge
Image © Copyright Gordon Brown