[NetBehaviour] Tales of L. and Bron - Up by Ulster

Simon Mclennan mclennanfilm at gmail.com
Sat Sep 12 22:50:30 CEST 2020




Link to drawing https://www.instagram.com/p/CFDNaTFHx9N/

Up By Ulster

Hopping between basalt columns, Bron whistled and sang a snatch of tune, a jig, an early Irish folk tune played or sung. The trill of her voice echoing around the cove, caused Leonardo Da Vinci, the famous painter and inventor, to raise his eyebrows and pluck at his breast pocket. His hand found the little whistle that was snugly held there. Putting the whistle to his lips he piped out an extraordinary melody both melancholic and plaintive… twiddle de dee tum tum tara tara twiddle de dooo. The beautiful melody echoed up around the massive hexagonal, and otherwise multi-sided basalt columns, finally finding the ears of a couple of escaped mink, sitting on a tussock of grass. They twisted and fled along the ridge, disappearing into the misty haze of a late summer, eyes flashing brown and amber, twirling a gorgeous and rare, tricky dance, more elegant than any court jester pirouetting for favour or one of the silk-clad ladies moving to the particular madrigal of the day.

‘Chuck I thon dagger wilt thee’ cried B. over the water to Leonardo. L. scratched his chin, then loosened his slender onyx blade, drawing it from the sheath at his calf.

‘An dinnae spike I’ she mused at him.

Above her head a few tousled clouds moved suspiciously towards the already haloed sun.

‘Catch’ he called, then tossed the blade in an upward ark, the black spike gently finding its way across the deep sea green blue of the undulating waves landing just beside B. in the little clump of couch grass and seaweed.

Bron fished it out, then popping it betwixt her’n jaws she executed a perfectly simple dive into the flickering surface of the pool. Underneath which she disappeared.

‘I feckin’ loves this!’ she mused to herself as she dived deeper, pushing the beautifully clean smelling, salty tasting water aback of her, and feeling the kelp brush slimily at her legs and arms.

Later, back in Italy, standing outside L’s workshop, B handed Leo a little bluish pearl and a small fishy smelling stone. 

Leo put the pearl between his teeth as if to test it, then dropped it, along with the pebble, into an embroidered bag he held, which he then chucked into a casket fastened to a great complicated boat-like structure hanging from ropes attached to tall poles.

‘Fair play to dat brudder!’ B cried. ‘I freakin' loves thee too much!’

And with that they went to the pub. He drank cider and she drank oaky wine and sang tunes, while he tap-danced and attempted to juggle two daggers and a snuff box of black silver - very rare!

Their hearts were gold, their voices like gliding capes of sunlight, under night skies, under sea foam blue and green sparkling jewels of topaz foam and green caves and dangerous old ponds in the ancient rimes of yore etc etc etc. tbc

Ta very much,
Simon



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