This week’s photo prompt is provided by Maria with Doodles and Scribbles. Thank you Maria!
By the burn she’d sit day after weeping day, shawl pulled tight over bun and bonnet.
The old women – sooty jackdaws on pin legs – took turns to scold her. ‘D’ya think you’re the first? D’ya think y’all be the last? Life is naught but strife.’
Mother came, arms crossed tight as barrel hoops. ‘I could drench the moors o’er my losses,’ she said. ‘Pull up your boots or you’ll settle where you sit and wither to a stump.’
Brother came with hands of bark to haul and maul the lass away home, but still she wept, snatching at the foamy water for the face gone on before.
Then the frosts fell, the burn turned bristly with ice, salting her lashes, cracking on her lips.
When the thaw came she melted too. They found her shawl, the bonnie bonnet now paled, silk orange blossom twisted in the band.
A bloom for love eternal, faded.