Short story X

Slowly, the man picked his way through the tortured landscape. It was not easy for him to make progress, with water encroaching at every turn, ground often unreliably soft and wind squalls whistling down from the surrounding hills. The sun, hanging low in the pale winter sky, was slowly being obscured by a grey veil. Suddenly, a metallic roar exploded through the valley ahead, and the dark grey shape of a fighter jet screamed past. The man sank to his knees, his hands tightly pressed against his ears. Not until the echoes of the apparition had subsided, and only the sound of the wind remained, did he stand up again. He drew a shuddering breath as he surveyed his surroundings. The sun had practically disappeared behind the clouds, and was on the point of setting. The man decided to press on to the bothy he knew round the next corner. But when he did turn around the inlet protruding across his path, the scene was not what he was expecting.
Nothing was as he was expecting it to be. Only the two gable-ends of the house remained, and the rowan tree. There was to be no shelter for the night, and the weather was closing in. The winds ruffled the pale yellow grasses and painted ever changing patterns of wavelets on the water. "It can't be", he mumbled, slowly collapsing on the large rock in front of where the door used to be. One or two layers of bricks remained of the walls, and the wreckage of the roof rendered the inside of the building unusable for shelter. The light slowly failed, and the man, in desperation, put up his tent for the night. A little more relaxed, he watched from his slightly elevated position as the metal grey reflection on the loch faded into the night.

Darkness slowly descended from the east, with the mountains in the middle distance last to lose their luminosity. The moon rose, but was barely visible through the haze that had already been building before sunset. Sighing through the grass, the wind ruffled down the hillside and whistled through the remains of the house. The moon disappeared from sight, and not long after, spits and spots of rain drifted in on the wind. The man quickly put up his tent in the lee of one of the gable ends, beside the stunted rowan tree. It had been there since the house was built, so many years ago. After spooning up some cold baked beans, the man retired for the night. The rain was now hammering down on the tent sheet, and the wind had risen to a crescendo of gusty howls. It was enough - to send the man to sleep. Enough for him not to notice that strange light.

Within an infinitessimal space of time, the light grew blindingly bright, flashed upwards and with a booming crash lit up the surrounding area - a light that remained.

Something had changed.

The two gable ends of the ruin had been rejoined by a roof and walls with windows. The light came from the east, where the sun just peeped over the rim of the hills. Words echoed in the man's mind. "Until the breaking of the day", but their significance was lost on him as he only managed to take their meaning literally. Still in shock at the vast change that had taken place in an instant, he sat on a large boulder, watching a woman leave the cottage with a large basin. She went down to the shore of the loch nearby, whilst some children almost fell out of the door of the cottage to start their play. A cat jump into a window and started to preen itself. The family dog, eager to start its day, catapulted itself outside and ran around the children. The woman, whilst washing clothes at the lochside, called to the children to behave themselves. The man, watching from a distance, just knew they wouldn't, and smiled. The picture of family bliss was completed, when a small boat approached from the loch, a man jumped out, kissed the woman, and went ashore. "And the shadows flee away", crossed the mind of the observer, and a shadow did seem to pass over the happy scene.

Observing the scene from a little distance, the man felt that there was some familiarity to him. Maybe not from his own memories or direct past. He found himself sitting under the rowan tree, which spread its branches over his head. It wasn't the shadow from the tree that was spreading out. It came from round the hill that backed onto the cottage, as a rider on horseback appeared. As he alighted, the gloom appeared to deepen. "Mr Macleod," the rider said, addressing the head of the household. "A message from the Castle. Can you read?" There was a sneer in the last question. "Obviously not," the messenger added before the other man could even reply. "You're behind with the rent. You haven't paid for a year. You know what that means." The other man still did not respond, but his face turned ashen as the implication sank in. What also sank in, like a knife, was the scorn as the errand rider added, in Macleod's own language, the phrase: "Mach a seo!" It was an order to get out. "In a week from now. Understood?!" The messenger imperiously strode back to his steed, obviously relishing the power he had over others. To the observer, the desperation of the situation was reflected in the scene, which had become virtually colourless. The sun still shone, reflecting dully off the fishknife that the head of the household wielded in the direction of the messenger. Unaware of the mortal danger he was in, the man put his foot in a stirrup - the reflection of the sun bounced towards the observer, and before the movement of the blade was complete, a blinding flash obliterated the scene, leaving him in complete darkness. The deafening thunder echoed among the hills roundabout as the wind howled among the two gable ends and through the branches of the rowan tree. The man sat bolt upright in his sleeping bag, gasping for breath after the nightmare. A final rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, leaving the steady patter of the downpour. No other sound remained.

The drumming of the rain slowly relenting into a soothing patter. The man finally managed to push the scene from his dream to the back of his mind. Something was still nagging him, though. Was it just a dream, or real history? It could never have been real, maybe something within him reacting to the injustices that had been visited on the people of the valley, many, many years ago. Slowly, he reclined and sank back into sleep. The sound of the rain faded from his mind, and it was replaced by that of a voice. A woman's voice.

The smell of fresh grass, of spring flowers and of smoke, permeated into the man's nostrils. And when he glanced up, daylight appeared to light up the canvas of his tent. Groggy with sleep, he crept outside, to be greeted by broad morning sunshine shining straight into his eyes. Something made him glance to his right. He was not surprised to see the cottage standing there; but that wasn't the only thing that was wrong. The door was ajar, hanging partly off its hinges. The wail of the woman's voice, which had echoed through his dream, persisted. Wisps of smoke rose above the roof, and only the beams remained. "I told you to get out", a harsh voice rang out. Her reply was an unintelligible screech, as she lunged for the man who had just destroyed her home. Two others restrained her. Her other half lay on the ground, prostrate and unconscious. The dog lay lifeless on the ground, but the cat was nowhere to be found. "Now, off you go. Right?!" The menace was unmistakable. The two henchmen bundled the husband on the cart, to lie between the two children who looked on in profound shock. One of the men jumped on the front of the cart and crashed his whip over the horses. The others remained behind - but their actions were shrouded by the billowing smoke of the burning house. The greyness covered the observer's entire field of vision, and turned to black.

Had it been a dream? The man was looking out of his tent, but there were only stars in the sky. The rain had ceased, and a decrescent moon was rising over the hills in front of him, reflecting off the loch.

 
Disturbed by the dreams he had suffered, the man decided to sit out in the cold night air. The rain had now moved away, and the moon hung low in the east, inexorably rising. It was not bright enough to outshine the constellations, which were also in their never-ending cycle. The wavelets from the loch broke on the shore, and in spite of the distance (a hundred or so yards), the sound was quite audible. Because there was no other sound. The wind had died right down. A white line crept up the sky from the southeast, a contrail of a transatlantic flight, just skimming the edge of the moon. The stillness was palpable, and quite soporiphic. Having banished the horrors of his nightmares, the man crept back into his tent. He took a swig of the now lukewarm tea from his thermos, nibbled on a biscuit, then lay down in his sleeping bag. He glanced outside one more time, this time out the other side of his tent. The mountain to the west loomed up, blocking out the stars in that direction. The stars of the big dipper swung low over the hill, pointing towards the Pole Star. And it was from that direction that the shooting star appeared to come. It shot down to the northwestern horizon - and exploded in a silent ball of light.

Dawn broke over the loch, with a mild breeze ruffling the surface. The wind sighed in the branches of the rowan street beside the two gable ends, or was it the rowan itself sighing? Under its spreading branches stood the tent of the man, who had been encamped there overnight. It was mid-morning before he awoke, having had to catch up on missed sleep. As he emerged into the blazing sunlight, two walkers emerged from the valley beside the hill to the west. As the man finished his morning ablutions, they walked past the ruins. "Morning!", came their greeting. "And a lovely morning it is and all", the man replied with a friendly wave. "Mind if we join you?" "Not at all", and his arm swung round to motion to the big boulder beside the cottage. He put his kettle on the primus cooker and proceeded to brew some coffee. His visitors took out their own mugs, and a conversation sprung up about the surrounding area. "We've come over from the States, one of my ancestors was removed from this patch". The man's mouth fell open.

The wind rustled through the leaves and branches of the rowan tree, mingling with the voices of the three people who were exchanging stories of their family connections. The midday sun winked in the little bay of the loch in front of the ruin beside the tree, when another walker appeared, this time from the east, along the shoreline. "Morning all", he too called out to the group by the large boulder. The man offered him coffee, on the condition that he too would use his own mug. As the three explained their mutual interest in the location to the new arrival, he appeared to grow increasingly ill at ease. A shadow drifted past, a tufty cloud borne of the increasing warmth of the day. "You see," he finally said. "I too have come here because of a family connection. Not the one you three all share. Not a bloodline. But blood does come into it".

An uneasy silence hung around the group of four, standing outside the ruined cottage. Only the wind, rustling the leaves of the rowan tree, made a sound. Finally, the man spoke up. "It's no use harking back to the past," he began. The last arrival looked up. "Yes, it was your ancestor that threw ours off this patch." The others turned round. "It was our ancestor that scratched yours with a knife." A cloud drifted across the scene, but the sun soon returned. "However, we're now more than a century on, and there is no point harbouring such old grudges. It won't turn the clock back, and by the way, who wants to live here now?" The man gestured around. "I mean, you're five miles from any road, ten miles from the nearest village, and they had a way of life that has died with them." The others nodded. "Yes, evil things happened here, that perhaps should not have taken place." The man extended his hand to the last arrival, whose ancestor had been responsible for the eviction, back in the 19th century. "We can't forget the past, for it has made our future. It has made US. Without the eviction, none of us, as we stand here, would be alive today. I suggest we be friends".

The sun sank to the western horizon, behind the mountain. Down at the loch, the two gables and the rowan tree remained in splendid isolation, the rowan continuing to tell its story to the wind, and the loch reflecting the fading light. Twenty miles away in a town pub, four people raised a glass to a new future and friendship.

Return

The land of trees
disappeared
behind a veil
of mist and drizzle

The land of winds
had not much changed
since I last saw it
five weeks ago

It's still winter
and the wind
carried a bite
of cold today

The trees here
are barren
dark boughs
bereft of leaves

Spring is a way off
but the lengthening days
carry a promise
of better times ahead

Compass Northwest

The land of trees
was wreathed
in mist today

Wrapping itself
around the boles
and the branches

Veils of
melancholy
and of remembrance

It will be a while
before my wanderings
once more take me here

where my roots remain
as do the memories
of the happy days gone by

My compass swings round
to the northwest
once more

and the breeze strengthens
as I cross the sea
Force 7 awaits me there

The land of trees
awaits
my eventual return

The iron men

Marching on
across the hills
yet rooted to
the ground

The iron men
arms wide
carrying power
to us all

Trees sway
in the wind
grasses swing
and bend

The iron men
stand
immutable
in the landscape

Now yellow
the grasses
will soon
turn green

The iron men
march on
yet rooted to
the ground

Bomber Memorial

Seven decades back
the men of war
bore hammers
to each other

Fire and death
by air and on the ground
Not all who set out
made it back alive

The endless open space
bordered by a dense forest
was where one mission ended
in disaster

The village churchyard
some miles to the south
is their final
resting place

They gave their tomorrow
so we could have our
today in freedom
We must remember them

Of trees and the sea (III)

I have lived here many years
before I crossed the sea
many miles I have walked
in amongst the trees

Sheltering me from cold winter winds
or from oppressive summer heat
an ever present presence
in the land of the trees

Marching endlessly on
in rows of starkly straight up boles
no leaves just now
only the pines are green

Dark and black
the branches spread
a blanket
of reassurance

Yellow and brown
the heathlands roll
to the edge of
the land of trees

Not long now though
before my ways wind me back
to the land of the winds and seas
beyond two seas no less

And when I'm there
at the shores of the island
the winds in the trees
what trees there are

Will carry the message from here
are you there
we're looking for you
just as the trees and the seas there

are calling me
are you there
we've been looking for you
for some time now

Mist

The day dawned
bereft of colour
devoid of definition
lost from view

The mist wreathed
veiled in grey
leaching colour
from the trees

Rime dusted
on the bushes
roofs and
roadways

The sun gently sweept
the mists away
returning colour
to the trees

Only the cold
remained
sunk down
in the valley

Where the river
flows northwest
to the sea
so far away

The spire

I was high on a spire
looking far away
through the
pouring rain

The river flowing below
the hills rolling afar
the market bustling
people milling

I could look far
from that spire
on a clear day
to see the rolling hills

To see the dark forests
the edge
of the heathlands
beyond

I missed seeing the sea
seventy miles to the west
when so high up
it was beyond sight

I can look far
when I'm in the isles
I can see mainland mountains
seventy miles away

Here I'm at home
There I'm at home
When in either
I long to be in the other

I sit on the floor

I sit on the floor
where I should not be
but I'm still dizzy
after 70 years

I fell from the belfry
they were waging war
the tower collapsed
and I with it

They put back the tower
they rebuilt the church
a new peal of bells
now rings out for sure

I sit on the floor
and remember those days
men fighting dying
people fleeing away

For months after, I was alone
not a soul round about
until the boys from West Riding
drove the evil away

They rebuilt the bridge
the one that was too far
in those dark September days
in fact there are three here now

I sit on the floor
and hear the new bells ring out
the city is buzzing
and this old bell is content

Two gables

Two gables
no roof
no windows
an empty space

A lone tree
sheltering
what's left
of the home

Looking out
over the
empty moorland
the blue sea

The rowan
is all that
remains
all that remembers

Remembering
what happened
between
the two gables

Winter

Quietly the rain taps down
Gently coaxing
what leaves remain
off the trees

It's winter now
Trees are bare
To let the wind
play freely and at will

No trees to impede
the wild winds
of the west
of the islands

A change is coming
less wind there
more cold here
longer days

Another two months
dare I think it
when nights
equal days again

The lambs come out
to play
in the bitter winds
of March

And when the king
lets us play,
Beltane follows
to signal the end of winter

Of trees and the sea (II)

The wind sighs
in the yellow grass
in the boughs
of the green pines

The hills roll
released from their
glacial prison
before mankind got here

I watch the moon
set behind a roofline
The trees mark
my horizon around me

Only on the road of kings
do I have an unimpeded view
but the sea remains
a long distance away

I can't hear its questioning voice
I can't just cross the road to it
It's not just a dozen miles
to meet the Atlantic

I can feel its presence from afar
I can hear beyond hearing
its caressing voice
as always, wherever I was

When I'm back by the sea
I'll hear the trees sighing from afar
as the wind rustles in the grass
looking for me, when I'm not here

January (II)

An empty expanse
stretches before us
The festive season
is but a negative bank balance

The holidays are over
The rain clatters down
The snow covers all
in a blanket of gloom

The dead Christmas trees
line the sodden roadways
as we trudge back
to (blurgh) work

The year
is not even a week old
but reality has hit back
it's 2014 - does it matter?

But even if it's just old January
There's beauty around us
In the golden sunsets
of late afternoon

The buds holding promise
yet folded tight
The sheep growing heavy
quietly graze the fields

A long way yet to go
but you keep the faith
the light will return
as 2014 rolls along

Splash

Splash
the chlorine
fills your
nostrils

Oh gawd
it's freezing
is the boiler on?
keep swimming

stop moaning
it's only 7 am
what do you
expect

Oh my word
that diving board
is high
aaahh! - splash

No, I'm not doing it
I'm not going onto
the tower
ten feet???

Whew, it's roasting
have you got the
suntan
slap it on my back

The old pool
now sits overgrown
the diving tower
without the plank

The blue
has turned to green
only the outlines
now remain

It's still
a playground
but now for
other creatures

Memories remain
soundlessly echoing
around the pool
for those that knew

Ravenspoint

Snow on the ground
In the light of the streetlamp
A sheep ambles by
disappears into darkness

The storm thunders
against the windows
Blue lights flash across the water
oops, a sheep flew past a truck

The lochans
amidst the low hills
like eyes onto heaven
Quietly lapping water

Erisort stretches
the dozen miles
from the fair town
to Marabhaig

The Ravenspoint rises
the road cravenly curves up
below its highest point
on to the next village

Roineabhal closes
the western horizon
The snow clad hills of Harris
loom up to the south

As darkness falls
only they keep the light
when the sun has long gone
on that short winter's day

Complete silence
along that lone road
as I ambled back
from where I had long gone

Missing the wind

You may think it strange
yet I miss
the buffeting of the wind
and the lashing of the rain

As the night closes
I would often gaze out
to see the streetlights distorted
by water streaming down the pane

To watch the familiar lights
of the overnight ferry
quietly slip out of port
before midnight

The lighthouse winks
as does its satellite buoy
a signal of safety
for those in peril on the sea

I'd be amazed
to see the glass flex
against the force of the wind
as shown by the reflections

But last thing each night
I'd hear the wind buffet the house
and the rain lash the windows
Saves washing them, eh?

I'll be back later
To look out at the familiar sights
A reassurance in itself
In old Stornoway

January

The curtains have drawn back
to show us a new year
after the glitter of Christmas
an empty expanse stretches before us

The fireworks have popped
The champagne has flowed
Our hangovers are gone
an empty expanse stretches before us

Months of anticipation
Of queueing in the shops
Maxing out the credit cards
an empty expanse stretches before us

Nearly three months until
the next spending spree
eggs, chocolate and bunnies
an empty expanse stretches before us

Oh lawdy lawd
I'm forgetting Valentine
before Easter, but until then
an empty expanse stretches before us

The cycle of life

N2 O2 H2O CO2
Chemical symbols
The building blocks
of life

Light
is the catalyst
for drawing them
out of air and soil

We see green
leaves
the factories
for conversion

Gases
turned
into trees
making food

Nuts eaten
turned into
squirrels eaten
turned into foxes

The leaves fallen
The tree dies
Falls
Dead

A bright fungus
turns the wood
back into soil
and gases

The cycle of life
There is no death
What looks dead
will turn back into life

New Year

2013 is over
and I'm glad
2014 has come
a blank sheet

Each new year
starts afresh
but what
has changed

The calender
switches
December
to January

But what's
the difference
from December 31st
to January 1st?