You feel the rain patter your cheeks and watch the grey clouds sagging above. The stubbled ground jabs into your back.
*
There is a tearing, crunching sound nearby. You can’t turn your head but realise it’s your horse, cropping the grassy verge. You try to croak her name but nothing comes out.
*
Bella at university. Charlie in Manchester. But Hannah, at school. You’re supposed to pick her up after hockey.
*
You feel surges of agony and anger, simultaneously. But nothing from the waist down.
•
A soundtrack of blame is running through your mind, complete with the memory of your husband’s disapproval that you continued to ride after your children were born. You made a point of hanging on to one thing that was your own.
*
The rain has eased and the clouds are thinning out. The grey sky behind them is whitening. Watching the clouds becomes compelling.
*
The lane is silent, apart from Rosie grazing.
*
You wonder what your ex will think, even though he’s eight years out of the picture.
*
Your sister will have to fetch Hannah. Though the rain has stopped, your cheeks remain wet.
*
You as a girl, about ten, running down the tree-lined street where your parents lived, being chased by a barking dog.
*
There is an unfinished canvas in your studio, the ocean painted in loose strokes. You’d been working on the children playing in the sand. It’s shaping up to be one of your best pieces.
*
Hannah has inherited your artistic skills, but she needs to apply herself.
*
You heard the van barrelling up from behind. You stayed still in the saddle and waved an arm downward to signal he should slow. He didn’t.
*
Rosie has always been good in traffic but no horse can be expected to behave if a van side-swipes them at 40 miles an hour.
*
She’s moving, at least. You can hear her, still cropping, a little farther away now.
*
Now and again you used to wonder if the risk was worth it. Worth the joy, the sense of freedom. The deep contentment. The beauty of the land. You don’t remember coming to a conclusion.
*
Watching the clouds from this angle is peaceful. You regret that you never made time just to lie down and look up.
*
Love sears your heart. Bella stumbling in the middle of her ballet recital, going on to win a standing ovation. The fear, rushing Charlie to hospital when he got stung by a bee.
*
Hannah’s delighted sweaty face, lofting the hockey trophy with her teammates last year.
*
In the distance, you hear a car coming down the lane, but the world has swivelled; the clouds, now, appear to float beneath you. You turn your gaze from the whiteout and look up to see higher.
***
Sarah Sibley is a writer and baker who lives in Durham with her family. As a cake artist, she has written extensively on baking for various newspapers and magazines. This is her first published piece of fiction.
Shooter Literary Magazine 