Kelly froze and couldn’t get out of the car. The goose had surround her and were squawking loudly. The noise sent chills through her, like finger nails on a black board. Her hand began to shake on the door handle, she want to let go but couldn’t.
One of the goose flapped it’s huge white wings and rose up threateningly. Hissing ruptured and loose feathers dotted the ground.
There was a tapping on the window. Kely screamed, started the car again and tore away.
The farmer lifted his cap and scratched his head in puzzlement. Townies today!
I hadn’t walked this way in the woods before so the wooden staircase took me by surprised. I went up the rickety steps and followed the path around, wondering where it would led.
The trees blocked out the sky with thick branches and leaves, over grown bushes scratch me and trailing ivy tried to trip me up. I fought through the nature and popped out into a clearance. Long grasses grew up around thirty or forty different stones.
Confused, I looked at one of the stones and realised I was standing in a lost pet cemetery.
During the summer, the school’s headmaster would go away. Worn down and stressed, he found escaping to the hills and spending time in complete isolation and nature the best to recover.
He pitched a tent, created a fire, built extra shelter from fallen branches and ferns around his camp site. During the daytime, he walked the hills, fished, set rabbit traps and collect edible fruits, plants and fungi. Later, he cooked what he’d caught and had supper.
At night he fell sleep, lulled by rain, wind and animals’ calls, knowing when he woke there was nothing to worry over.
He walked down the dirty road, the only sounds his movements and wind in the grass. He had been out hunting – if you could call it that. In his rucksack were rusty cans of vegetables, stewed meat and bottles of clear river water which he still had to boil before drinking.
Arriving back at the farm house, he checked on things – animals and crops good – then he sat at the worn table and ate a tin of peaches. He found them good but too sweet, still he savored them, knowing they could well be the last just like he was.
The clock always fascinated her. The background was blue and green enamel whilst the numbers, hands, animals and figures were gold. As well as telling the time, the clock told the passed of months and years but she never realise that.
It stretched far and wide, a seemingly empty grassland but I knew that wasn’t true. Out here there were herds of wild animals and my camera finger was just itching to take their photos. The life of a photographer might not be easy but it give me the chance to experience places like this.
Opening my window, I smoked my first cig of the morning. The cages strung between apartment blocks were filled with brightly colored, noisy birds. As a child, I’d thought them real and tried to set them free but there were no animals and those birds are robots.
For generations, the men of my family had sheared the sheep and the women turned the fleece into wool skeins. The money gained allowed my great-great-grandmother to open a small factory and shop.
Despite many difficulties, the businesses survived but after the 2001 foot and mouth crisis, everything was lost. My siblings, cousins and I decided not to give up. We brought groups of sheep famous for their wool, rare sheep breeds, angora goats, angora rabbits and alpacas.
We made and sold specialist pure wool and mixes, thus building the family business back.