Oct. 2nd, 2024 04:29 pm
Week 1 (years ago) prompt Resolution
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murielle Therealljidol Week 1: Resolution
Dear Mother,
Ham is gone. He left last week for town. I don’t expect him for a fortnight. Last time he was gone almost five weeks, but it was spring and the weather unpredictable. We had a fair harvest and the wagon was loaded for market. He will stock up for winter. I hope for mail. Even if he is gone a month I am well provided for, it will not be hard as last time. The chickens and the cow have settled in and are productive and good company. I enjoy tending them. He took Wager and left me the nag in case I need the neighbors. They are five miles east. I have only met them once. They are Ukrainian and seem nice. They have five children.
Mornings are brisk and clear and the grass is gold and billows and ripples across the plain like waves. I take the scythe to it each day for hay and am cutting a swathe up the shallow hill; we call it the shoulder, on the edge of our land. How my heart aches to see a tree.
I must tell you of something. Not that. Not yet.
The last time Hamish was away I saw a man on the crest of the hill. He was astride a beautiful white horse and dressed in native colors. The first time I saw him I was terrified and ran inside. I dared not venture outdoors. But at last, Maisy’s mournful lowing summoned me to the barn to milk her and lead her out to graze. I took the rifle. I did not see him again for several days. Then one evening, as the sun blazed its way behind the hill I saw him, a dark silhouette against the horizon. Clutching the rifle to me I watched, but he did not move or even look toward the homestead. Over the following weeks, I saw him each morning and evening in that exact spot, gazing to the east. I came to think of him as a sentinel protecting me from harm for during that time no predators came onto the land, not a coyote or a hawk, and the dogs did not bark.
When Ham returned he vanished. That is, I did not see him until last week after I bid Ham farewell. As I turned to go to the barn he was there, on the hill, as if he had never gone.
In the evening, when I cut the grass on the hillside, I know he is aware of me. I feel no fear. I feel drawn to him. And even though he never turns his head or his eye toward me, I feel he is anticipating, as do I, our inevitable meeting when I gain the crest of the hill.
I have prepared a basket of bread and preserves for this evening when at last I reach him. I will tell you of it when I get back home, Mother.
Your loving daughter,
Aileen Sorry about the blue. :-)
Dear Mother,
Ham is gone. He left last week for town. I don’t expect him for a fortnight. Last time he was gone almost five weeks, but it was spring and the weather unpredictable. We had a fair harvest and the wagon was loaded for market. He will stock up for winter. I hope for mail. Even if he is gone a month I am well provided for, it will not be hard as last time. The chickens and the cow have settled in and are productive and good company. I enjoy tending them. He took Wager and left me the nag in case I need the neighbors. They are five miles east. I have only met them once. They are Ukrainian and seem nice. They have five children.
Mornings are brisk and clear and the grass is gold and billows and ripples across the plain like waves. I take the scythe to it each day for hay and am cutting a swathe up the shallow hill; we call it the shoulder, on the edge of our land. How my heart aches to see a tree.
I must tell you of something. Not that. Not yet.
The last time Hamish was away I saw a man on the crest of the hill. He was astride a beautiful white horse and dressed in native colors. The first time I saw him I was terrified and ran inside. I dared not venture outdoors. But at last, Maisy’s mournful lowing summoned me to the barn to milk her and lead her out to graze. I took the rifle. I did not see him again for several days. Then one evening, as the sun blazed its way behind the hill I saw him, a dark silhouette against the horizon. Clutching the rifle to me I watched, but he did not move or even look toward the homestead. Over the following weeks, I saw him each morning and evening in that exact spot, gazing to the east. I came to think of him as a sentinel protecting me from harm for during that time no predators came onto the land, not a coyote or a hawk, and the dogs did not bark.
When Ham returned he vanished. That is, I did not see him until last week after I bid Ham farewell. As I turned to go to the barn he was there, on the hill, as if he had never gone.
In the evening, when I cut the grass on the hillside, I know he is aware of me. I feel no fear. I feel drawn to him. And even though he never turns his head or his eye toward me, I feel he is anticipating, as do I, our inevitable meeting when I gain the crest of the hill.
I have prepared a basket of bread and preserves for this evening when at last I reach him. I will tell you of it when I get back home, Mother.
Your loving daughter,
Aileen