So, I came here, where things made more sense.
I gazed around at the idyllic scenery. A dense blanket of clouds scuttled across the sky, blocking the morning sun. Sheep grazed in green fields bordered by hedgerows and woods. Horses gathered around the bales of hay they would eat for their breakfast. The freshness of the air mingled with the scent of fields and wildflowers. Everything felt fresh and alive.
But it wasn’t just scenery anymore. The longer I sat here, the more I felt it. The breath of the sheep seemed to sync into one, their heartbeats thrumming like a single, steady drumbeat. Beneath me, the earth. I swore I could feel its energy winding up through my fingertips, the vibrations pulling me closer as if I was part of it.
Only a scattering of wind turbines ruined the view, the eyesores sticking out awkwardly against the gentle slope of the hill barely a quarter mile away. On each tower, a trio of blades resembling propellers rotated quickly, red lights flashing like feral eyes. They’ve always freaked me out, especially at night.
Even the buzzing from the wind turbines, which had always grated on my nerves, felt different today. Instead of their mechanical movements, they folded seamlessly into the rhythm of the world around me.
Something about them feels so unnatural, like they’re watching me. But how could that be possible? I don’t know. Everything felt different today. It made no sense.
A lot of things didn’t make sense recently.
I sat down and opened my portfolio. When the world got too loud, inside and out, I came here with my sketchbook. The openness always seemed to ease the turmoil inside me. It's hard to be angry when you're surrounded by such beauty. I flicked through the pages until I found a blank sheet andbegan to fillit rapidly withimagesfrom my thoughts.
The images had never really left me, and it was easy to recall the blazing stars that had swam around me. I relaxed and let myhand take over, putting the images on the paper. At first, my hand moved in gentle strokes, lightly shading the page. But the urgency grew as the image formed, and my hand flew back and forth across the page until all eleven stars sat there in all of their glory.
But the longer I sat here, the more I felt something shift. The pencil in my hand felt different. Now it felt like it was buzzing slightly against my fingers. I blinked, shaking it off. Probably just the way my hand tensed by holding it too tight.
I exhaled, glancing down at the grass. The wind had made it ripple, but now it moved differently. Swaying, not just in response to the air, but in time with the darkening clouds above them.
I looked up into the sky, and a drop of cold rain fell on my head and dribbled down my face. Wiping the drip away, I looked at the dark clouds forming in the sky.
Maybe it would have been smarter if I had stayed closer to home today. But then, I would still have been an angry mess, and I didn't want that, especially now my stepdad had gone.
My thoughts drifted back to when we moved to the Scottish Borders. I was nine. My stepdad had been excited for weeks, going on about the scenery and the promise of a quieter life. At the time, I hadn’t understood the decision. He never asked me what I thought.
Everything happened so fast back then, boxes were packed overnight, Mum insisting it was for the best, without ever saying why. But now, I know it was the right choice for Mum.
After the stroke, my Mum needed a peaceful place with fresh air and fewer distractions. It was much easier to care for her here than it ever would have been in bustling London, and I’m grateful for that now. London held too many memories anyway, especially of my dad, who left without even saying goodbye.
Still, the move brought its own worries. I remember wondering if I'd be able to take care of her properly, if she'd get the care she needed in this unfamiliar place. I never told her that, it wasn'tsomething I admitted out loud. Not when I knew Mum and my stepdad needed me to be strong.
That responsibility shaped me. It taught me how to handle things. How to make tea just the way she liked it when she was too tired to move from her chair by the window. To memorise the way her breathing changed when she needed something but didn't want to ask. To listen, even when she had no words to say. This has stayed with me, a constant reminder that my decisions affect not just me but the people I love most.
I looked to the sky. What had been a silver colour only moments ago was darkening to a graphite grey, and it was showing no signs of stopping there. After moving here, I soon learned the scenery was indeed as beautiful as my stepdad had said it would be, but that the weather was unpredictable.
As if to prove it, the wind whipped my hair around my face. Shivering, I hunkered beneath my woollen cardigan, but it did nothing to stem the odd, electrical tingling coursing through my arm and neck. I exhaled sharply, shaking it off.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, drawing my attention. I pulled it out, hoping it wasn't my Stepdad. My stomach swirled. It was Donte.
"Morning, babe. I need to speak to you. Meet me in the village at nine.
I typed quickly,
"I hate surprises, especially so early in the day. What's wrong?" I already felt anxious. What was so important?
My phone vibrated again.
"No questions, just be there." That only made me want to ask a hundred more. But Donte wasn't the type to waste words. If he was being vague, there was a reason.
I put my phone back in my pocket and closed my sketchpad. I had met Donte a few months ago, and I still didn't know muchabout him. What I did know was he liked to keep to himself. I liked that he was kind and not the immature jerk type.
My gaze settled on the nearest house. The charming cottage belonged to Maggie Willoughby, who lived about a mile away on the outskirts of the village.
Maggie was a sweet, old widow who'd give me refuge until the rain passed.
It wouldn't be the first time she had done it. A couple of months ago, Donte and I had been walking through these same hills when a cloudburst had occurred, soaking us to our skin. We had run to Maggie's, giggling as the rain plastered our hair to our faces. Maggie had tutted at the sight of us, insisting we change into robes while she dried out clothes and gave us hot chocolate to sip.
