The Crow Road
The Crow Road
“Above, a lark - just a speck against the blue - sang, its shrill voice jetting fluid bursts of song.
‘Aw, tell us, Mr McHoan; please.’ ‘Yeah, dad; what is it?’ ‘Please, Uncle Ken. Pleeease.’ ‘Yeah, come on, Mistur McHoan. Tell us. Whit is it?’ ‘What’s what?’ ‘The sound you can see!’ Prentice shouted, jumping down from the broken wall of the broch; Ashley was climbing higher.
‘The sound you can see?’ he said thoughtfully. He leant back on the sun-warmed stones, looking across the grass circle in...side the old ruin, over the spray of grey stones downhill where the broch had fallen or been torn away, over the sharp green tops of the pines to the waters of Loch Fyne. A white-hulled yacht ran gull-winged before the wind, heading north-east up the loch towards the railway bridge at Minard point; perhaps heading for Inveraray. In the distance, a few miles behind, he could see another boat, its spinnaker a tiny bright bulb of pure yellow, like a flower on a gorse bush.MoreLess
‘Aw, tell us, Mr McHoan; please.’ ‘Yeah, dad; what is it?’ ‘Please, Uncle Ken. Pleeease.’ ‘Yeah, come on, Mistur McHoan. Tell us. Whit is it?’ ‘What’s what?’ ‘The sound you can see!’ Prentice shouted, jumping down from the broken wall of the broch; Ashley was climbing higher.
‘The sound you can see?’ he said thoughtfully. He leant back on the sun-warmed stones, looking across the grass circle in...side the old ruin, over the spray of grey stones downhill where the broch had fallen or been torn away, over the sharp green tops of the pines to the waters of Loch Fyne. A white-hulled yacht ran gull-winged before the wind, heading north-east up the loch towards the railway bridge at Minard point; perhaps heading for Inveraray. In the distance, a few miles behind, he could see another boat, its spinnaker a tiny bright bulb of pure yellow, like a flower on a gorse bush.MoreLess
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