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How the component parts of Love will always be assembled regardless of time or distance.
Keir Hunter Hardie
Age 48. Looks 38. Acts 12. Wandering around Life like a tourist in a foreign land but enjoying the sights, sounds and smells although unsure when, if ever, I will get home.
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
Keir Hunter Hardie
She awoke to the faint, honking coughs of distant geese. She swung her legs from the bed and walked over to the small window. The bright curtains, as ever, were wide open. There were no neighbours in this part of the Scottish highlands. She looked up at the pale grey sky and watched a skein of geese. There would be more today and tonight. It was as if there was an archer in the sky, his quiver filled with endless arrows, firing the long points of geese ever southwards.
When she had washed and dressed she opened the old wooden door, smiled as it creaked a quiet greeting, and she stepped out into the shy sunlight of the garden. She picked herbs and felt her fingertips moisten as the scents and dew perfumed her hands. Her usual solitary sadness was waning now. She was filled with anticipation. She walked into the kitchen and put the basket on the scrubbed wooden table top. She could hear a faint growling, the sound of the postman`s van, as it struggled and slewed up the pot-holed track to the cottage. She had lived in the cottage for ten months and had received seven letters. Five had been bills. One had been from her solicitor in Paris and the other had been from a professor in Edinburgh. She had paid the bills, answered her solicitor,ignored the professor. The professor wanted permission to conduct preliminary archaeology at the point where her land met the beach. She didn`t have to reply.
The postman came and the postman went. She watched the dirty red van grow small as it faded into the purple heather along the coast. She looked at the envelope in her hand. Sighed as she felt the familiarity of the handwriting. She knew he was coming. That evening she had a hot bath, she dried her hair and curled onto the sofa. She read the letter at last.
Dear Anne Bevoir,
Although I have not received a reply to my last letter, I am writing to say that as I am going to be on the West coast on other business, I shall call in and see you. I have been unable to obtain a phone number, hence my uninvited attendance. I shall call at your cottage on Friday the fourth.
The paper felt warm and the handwriting, although small, was strong and neat. She looked at the calendar on the wall. Today was Thursday the third. In the box under the heading Friday the fourth she could read her own handwritten note. It said: "Today he shall arrive". She smiled and looked again at the calendar. She remembered writing on the calendar ten months ago. She had been at the large rock, where her land met the beach. She had walked back with her hand clutching a small silver brooch and written onto her calendar "Today he shall arrive". The ten months had passed as quickly as one beat of her heart.
She rose from the sofa and took her heavy coat from the door hook. She put the coat on and took the small silver brooch from the pocket. She looked at it in the yellow light. It was silver and in the shape of a heart. There were two names delicately traced into the centre. Small, but still etched strongly, they read "James and Anne". She left the cottage and walked in the darkening dusk to the large rock. She placed the brooch into the deep fissure where she had found it ten months earlier. The fissure was dark and jagged. A secret place where the brooch had lain for three hundred years. The meeting, tomorrow, of James and Anne was inescapable. Nature, luck or love, would always be found. She felt the joy of knowing that she would find her place or it would find her. It didn`t matter if she flew south or just watched as others did. Anne walked back to the cottage and as she gently closed the creaking door she saw, lit only by the stars, the last of the geese flying south.
|READER'S REVIEWS (9)
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"Much to savor in only 700 words. Written in the style of writers I admire the most. Cetainly a cut above the better works posted on this site. I'll be looking for more. " -- Richard, OH, USA.
"One of the best on the site. Have you got more - particularly romance? I assume you are published will you tell me who with? I shall watch for more in the meantime. Lindz.." -- lindsey, exeter, devon, england.
"Well i think that this story is about a girl who got milk from the milkman early in the morning! Am i right?" -- Mary Wells.
"I could find very little wrong with this piece. I assume it is an excerpt from a novel you're writing or have written by the way it sounds and the mystery it hints at. Am I being led to believe that this James and Anne are over three hundred years old, or do they just enjoy defacing ancient artifacts? There was some small glitches which I'll point out now, and whether you wish to change them is entirely up to you, since they are just suggestions, and not hard and fast rules: Five had been bills. One had been from her solicitor in Paris and the other had been from a professor in Edinburgh. Neither of these two lines is a complete sentence. The word "centre" is usually used to refer to a place rather than a point. When refering to a point it is usually "center." Too many sentences begin with the word "She." You may wish to try mixing it up a bit, or else consider changing the title to She. " -- The Advisor.
"Evocatively written, beautifully observed, with just enough mystery to keep us wanting more! Is this a place you've been as you go through life like a tourist? " -- Chris, Atherstone, Warwickshire, UK.
"More please - best on the site." -- MacHargill, inverness, scotland, moray.
"Ehmm..m. Sehr gut Seite! Ich sage innig..!:) bmw" -- BMW, ..., ..., ....
"well Written when is your book out will be looking for more keep up the good work........ " -- Fred Merk, Glasgow, scotland.
"Keir..just read the above short story, and thoroughly enjoyed it. The mind gives us much better images than the good old TV. Keir.. thanks for taking me away for a few minutes, from the hustle and bustle of normal life, to a more tranquil & relaxed location. You know,I enjoyed that short break, feel refreshed,oh well back to reality....thanks Keir,give us some more.. soon.... John Chisholm, Bristol,england" -- John Chisholm Hardie, Bristol, England, Avon.
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© 2001 Keir Hunter Hardie
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