Day Nine

(For more information on my 'April Challenge' click HERE)

(41)THE PEDANT

Couldn’t be crows, he said. Not in such numbers and circling the field. Must be rooks. They’re more social. They flock. So it must be rooks. And it sort of spoiled it for me, him saying that. I don’t know why because it’s the picture I’ve loved above all others.

(42)PEACE

Trout lay down in the tall grass. They wouldn’t find him there. He’d get peace. He lay on his back. Sky and grass was all there was and somewhere high up dragonflies fizzing and just above his head butterflies adrift. Trout stayed hid, long past the end of the game.

(43)NOT ALL FORGOTTEN

She’d a picture of ‘Wheatfield With Crows’ pinned to her wall. They made out on her bed, for the whole day they did. Like the tide going in and going out. He forgets her name but the picture he remembers and her hair yellow like straw and her eyes blue.

(44)THE ART CRITIC

It’s supposed to be prophetic. Like he was seeing his own imminent end. The dark in the sky coming down on the yellows and greens, falling like a curtain. And the crows as messengers from the grave. Personally, I don’t see it. I see only Vincent’s mad joy in life.

(45)CROWS

Said he could hear crows. Every time he stood in front of the picture. Like they were calling him. Could hear their claws scratching at the glass, beaks pecking, and the brush of their feathers, like the stiff taffeta of funeral skirts. Arturs said it aloud, hoping to be heard.