I sit beneath the willow and watch as the rooks root for leather jackets among the tufted grass. I must get the mower out. The breeze wafts through the hanging fronds of leaves bringing a pleasing mellow rustle to my ear. The uplifting sound is over-ridden by the clack of the wind chimes, as the north westerly picks up. The thwunk thwunk of the denser longer chimes is descanted by the more delicate tinkle of the thinner pieces, from the smaller collection.
My friends comment on how unusual my wind chimes are and how skilful I am to have made them almost sing with the breeze. They ask what they are made of. I don’t tell them of course and fob them off with; an artist doesn’t reveal all their secrets.
They ask me how my mum is enjoying her new life abroad and is she ever coming back. She loved this garden. I tell them she is very settled in her new home. This garden is one of the few things she was capable of loving.
They ask how I am coping without her. Some comment that I seem to be blossoming. Yes, that’s it, blossoming. Like my magnificent cherry tree. Yes, I tell them mum is very settled in her new abode. No, she has no plans to return.
And I smile, take a sip of my chilled white wine and nod in toast to the wind chimes.
J M Curry is a lawyer living in Wales who enjoys the short story as a vehicle away from the formality of legal language and as a channel for the myriad of ideas that bombard the creative side. J M Curry’s main writing focus is on criminal thrillers and a second novel is in progress.
Read more by J M Curry on the Abergavenny Small Press website; here www.asppublishing.co.uk issue #3 and here..