Moira Ashley
My homeland. A place like no other, defiant rock in turbulent sea, where dawn breaks with blistering savagery. Bruised heather trembles; swollen burn bleeds clots of peat ripped from welted bog; wind-lashed reeds shiver and moan; in shell-shocked bay seals lie keeled; a flock of teal is flushed from quivering tarn to spiral in dreich air; wild gusts howl through bleak machair; seagulls cry.
Grey-bellied clouds spew lumps of curdled sleet on huddled ewes whose sharp-tongued bleats pierce pitiless sky. Fir tree branches fracture as forest shakes. Cold bites deep; ravaged earth aches. Another winter’s day, another storm to bear, but Alba’s bones are strong and will, like me, repair. Exposed roots throb. My heart numb as stone, awaiting salve from Spring’s long dreamt-of sun, when gentle waves will kiss these shores again.
Moira Ashley enjoys writing micro fiction, poetry and travel stories. A retired lecturer, she lives near the Gower Peninsula, South Wales.
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TRASH CAT LIT 