|Ben More (standard:non fiction, 287 words)|
|Author: Cyrano||Added: Feb 05 2012||Views/Reads: 1239/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|When writing about a place, its good to make that place another character in your story. It's good practice, try it.|
Ben More It cast shadows over my days, over my youth, just as surely as it cast shadows across the fells and over the farm on which I lived. Most mornings the swirling sea mist lifted off the fells and licked its way up the rugged, rose-pink granite face where it hung like a shroud till noon. The mountain restricted me as it must have restricted my father and his before him, punished to live on one side while the rest of human life, it seemed, lived on the other. Ours was the only farm on the western shoreline of the island, while on the east side white cottages with their chocolate box thatched roofs littered the fells, crossed by dry stone walls like a checker board. Life under the shadow of the mountain was sometimes a lonely existence. I don't think I spoke a dozen words to a stranger during the winter months. We never had a television set my whole childhood. We tried it one time but the mountain blocked the signal and dad took the television back to Tobermoray. I climbed the mountain most days but only to free myself from its capture and to feel the elation of seeing clear across the island toward the mainland, sometimes catching sight of a yacht tacking hard, fighting the wind ‘mid-Sound' and me waving like a city kid might wave at a passing train. It somehow connected me to something or someone far off and for a moment I felt the promise that one day I might leave the Mountain's shadow. Fifty years on I return to its shadow just to hear the snow fall, and feel protected from the storms I never knew were coming. Tweet
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