| - I'm trying my hand at writing a short story, and would be grateful for feedback and suggestions. Happy reading! -
Dark Morning
The dawn chorus of the birds wafted through the open window with the fresh morning air; Lucy loved being awakened by that sound. She sat up in bed and leaned out of the window; the rising sun warmed the left side of her face a little. Slowly she got out of bed, slipped into her flip-flops, tiptoed over to the grandfather clock, opened the glass covering and felt the hands: a quarter past five. The sun rose early at this time of year in this part of the country! Seized by a sudden desire to go for an early morning stroll around the college garden, she walked slowly out of her bedroom, felt carefully for the top of the stairs with her foot and descended them, keeping her hand on the bannister.
She had only just moved into this flat on the college campus the day before and it was still unfamiliar to her; as she headed through the hall for the front door, she banged her left hip rather heavily against the small telephone table. As she straightened the table again, she found a braille book on it. It was enormous, even by braille standards. Her fingers skimmed the title: "The Complete Fruit Garden". Yes! that was what she had been looking for. Rafael must have put it there for her. She would take it to read in the garden, she wanted to learn more about propagating fruit.
She took the book with her and, still in her nightie and flip-flops, opened the front door and stepped outside. Immediately she was startled by a loud flapping of wings nearby; she had disturbed two pigeons sitting on the plum tree by the door. She held her hand in front of her face to protect it from the branch which often hung low over the doorway; she would cut them back after they had fruited, she thought. She ran her hand along the branch, but it was too early for fruit, the flower petals had only just fallen off, leaving little hard fruitlets. The sweet honey smell of meadowsweet blossoms wafted towards her, telling her that she was at the edge of the wetland that Rafael had planted. It was pleasantly cool outside and humid; she had fallen asleep the evening before to the sound of rain.
She knew her way round the garden perfectly now, and it was always kept very neat and tidy, without anyone leaving things lying around. So she didn't bother to take her white cane, but simply trailed her free hand on the various plants by the side of the path. It had been mulched with tree-bark which crunched softly under her feet and smelt faintly of mushrooms. Rafael, who led the garden team, had taught her how to identify the different plants by the feel of the leaves and bark, and the fragrance of the flowers; some also had leaves which gave off a smell when she crushed them between her fingers. He had enthusiastically told her how, as an apprentice, he had had to do a project and chosen to create a sensory garden for the blind, with all sorts of plants that feel and smell beautiful.
She thought to herself, really, any garden is a sensory garden, you only have to seek and you will find. For example, here was tansy with its feathery leaves with their very distinctive aroma when crushed and small, button-like flowers; next to it bay with hard, oval leaves with pointed end and leathery surface; next to that prickly leaves of holly, and beside it a birch tree with its light branches and small leaves hanging down to caress her face and its distinctive, papery bark. In places the bark had been cut, and some drops of the sweet sap that people had collected in the early spring was still oozing out, drying in the air as it did so. She picked off a bit and tasted the very subtle sweetness - not strong like sugar or aromatic like honey, but it had a certain freshness about it, as though it had brought with it some of its arctic homeland. A slight breeze started to blow, rustling the fields of sweetcorn and sunroots some way ahead of her; the rustles sounded different so she could tell which was which. Further on was the great big lava rock, with unusual bumps and holes all over it. As she ran her hands over it, she imagined how it had once been a very hot, boiling, lava mass which had suddenly cooled as it came out of the earth, causing all the bubbles to freeze into bumps and holes. Presently a lark began to sing overhead.
She stopped to water the elder bushes, then padded over to the tree stump. This was also the favourite resting place of Fino, the cat, who gave a sleepy "purrrr-MIAOW" as she swept her hand over the surface to check it was clear, thereby waking him up. He got up, sprang onto the ground with a soft thud, then there was a "krk - krkrkk - krk" as he scratched the bark of the stump with his claws. She sat down on the stump, opened the book and began to read. Her braille skills had removed tremendously over the past year, and she really soaked up information on cutting, tubers, bulbs and sowing seeds as her fingers skimmed back and forth across the pages. |
