https://books2read.com/u/mdLo7X
Donie
made the trip to the bog. It was almost a daily ritual when Jonnie
was alive. Well! A fair day ritual then. There was nothing as
miserable as a wet day in the bog, no shelter and maybe a whipping
wind. The wind in summer, made the bog cotton dance on their tall
thin green stalks, and the gentle breezes created miniature
tornadoes, never, ever, more than a few few tall.
Thank
God. The turf is all saved. Poor auld Jonnie. I miss you. At this
time of the year with your turf saved you’d say: Sound now for the
winter. We have a shed full of dry turf.
I
went to the Nursing Home to see The Sister. Most days now she just
sits beside her bed muttering, and sobbing. I think she’s
remembering things that upset her. She’s troubled. I’d say she’s
angry about something. You know the way she used get. All huffy -
with that look on her face.
Maybe
she feels ashamed that it’s turned out this way. Sometimes she gets
frustrated when you don’t understand what she wants.
Poor
Peggy her mind is trapped in the past. She just has today and there
will be no tomorrow: all she has is yesterdays. Just yesterdays. Only
the past for company...
I
have your caged birds. They're singing again, went silent for a few
days after I moved them.
Ringo,
the Mule, with his fringe, took a bit longer. The call eegits
birdbrains, feather heads, but I think the birds missed you as well.
What
that lot are at isn’t right. She deserves a lot more.
Somethin’
has to be done about it. For all our sakes, I better start looking
for him. For the boy.
