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Today I am posting an extract from my recently published book ‘The Beautiful Silence ‘ which is available to purchase here.

I hope that you enjoy reading!

The rain fell like the pealing bells which sang from the towers and steeples of stone, their voices through the stone-hollowed walls wailing like children, Christmas hungry, eyes widened, fighting the sleep that swung like a pendulum over their heads, ticking away the moments towards a life unfettered by expectation, a time when the calling of the bells sounded a different tone, a time basted in reconciliation and redemption, a momentary glimpse over the shoulder at the child who still stood singing high to the days he could never see, days when the rain would fall warm and soft and hands would be gentle but strong, pulling the gravel from broken-skinned knees, when faces’ smiles would dry the tears, and solitary words would say more than books in voices clear and honest, when pealing bells were what they were and sang like the falling rain.

And there, beneath the heavy boughed yew whose limbs stretched out above the shadowed ground, bearing the weight of the deaths of countless years, their crisp-twist fingers reaching out as if the plains were within their grasp, looking to shed their needles like wasted days, there was where I first saw her. She was sitting, back pressed against the timbered slats which struck out uneasily as if they were the children of the needy, possessive yew, its blessing withheld, a bargaining chip pressed against the conscience of those loved, those for whom the grain ties would never dry. She was sitting at once rooted and rootless, her eyes staring out beyond the low-slung wall which sliced the greenness like a heavy pencil mark, neither protective nor deterrent, marking only the border between the living and the dead, and somehow she seemed to exist somewhere between the two, at the same time both earthly and ethereal, as if she had grown up from the ground and descended from the branches at the same instant.