The Standing Stones
The cottage smelled of damp stone and the pine tar her grandmother had used on the door frames, and underneath both of these the older smell of turf, which had not been burned in...
Broken Wings
She had not consulted a map. Maps implied return.
Maren had driven through the small hours with the particular deliberateness of someone who has made a decision and is moving inside it...
Spring in the Meadow
He sits with the stillness of something that knows
the meadow is watching — the ryegrass, the rooks,
the red campion trembling where cold morning goes
to warm itself slowly...