A change of scene this week. This is from my World War II novel, 'A Kestrel Rising'.
With a shaky sigh, Ilona opened the door and climbed out, already feeling the tears begin to gather and burn. She remembered so much and he was all around her in the silent tumble of stones. She stood in the hollow where they had lain and looked up at the cloudless sky. It was a flawless summer day. He was very near and she felt the lightest of touches on her cheek and thought that she heard her name whispered with longing. She opened the book and read the poem aloud. It was too easy to remember Ian’s voice, reciting it to her in the small, warm hours of the night, and up here, after a long and languid hour of lovemaking. Her voice was tight with the tears but she spoke the words as loud as she could. When she finished, she swept the dried fragments of heather into her hand and waited. After a few moments, the breeze rose, swirling around her and she held her hand up and opened it, tossing the faded blossoms into the air. They were caught up in the breeze, spiraling upwards at the moment that a kestrel swept past, it called out as it swooped towards the stones and then rose again, following the specks into the open sky. She could barely see it through her tears, “Goodbye, my love,” she whispered, “I love you, but I have to say goodbye . I need to move on, I have to honor my promise.” She did not expect an answer, “I’m so sorry, darling. I miss you so much,” she sank down onto the carpet of heather, covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly among the bees.