The wind brings the scent of Loch Finlaggan and the distant Paps of Jura – tinny water, dying heather, the fuller smell of barnacle geese, now gathering for the winter. Angus scrapes his spade clean, knocks mud from the tines of his fork.
There was a time Moira would come with him, insist on planting sunflowers and cosmos, open faced blooms she said would lure in the bees. He would smile, back bent over his cabbage seedlings.
The wind scorched the feathery fronds of the cosmos, slugs feasted on the sunflowers, biting through the hairy stems, only stumps remaining. Soon Moira stayed at home, leaving the Loch to Angus and the geese.
Perhaps that was when Moira decided to leave, when she realised nothing she planted would flower.
He still grows vegetables but once picked he throws them on the compost heap to rot.
***
Written for What Pegman Saw, the writing prompt that uses Google Street View. This week we are in Greenland, though my story is based on the Island of Islay, part of the Inner Hebrides off the west coast of Scotland. There is a link between the two locations, however – the barnacle geese mentioned are Greenland natives but overwinter on the west coast of Scotland. I just followed their flight path to find Angus.
Fathoms deep. The language is so lovely, the sentiment so sad.
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I liked your explanation of the link, as too I liked your story. I understand it’s an area of high depression and alcoholism. So the story seems to fit. 🙂
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Your excellent description tells the story eloquently. I can feel that parching wind as it blows through their marriage as well their seedlings.
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I love this, Lynn.
Your prose could bring tears to the eyes of those discarded vegetables.
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Ah, thank you so much C. Very lovely of you 🙂
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