depressed.’
‘ Hm, you don’t seem so sad.’ He changes hands with his crook.
‘ Ah, sad, not sad, it’s all part of life.’ She tries the philosophical approach but it sounds ridiculous coming from her mouth and she starts to giggle.
‘ Yes, very sad today,’ he teases, chuckling in return. Sarah notices his shirt is clean and ironed today, and he looks less like a farmer. His big black boots are polished too.
‘ You know I think the trouble with being sad—if you were sad, which you are not today,’ he leans his head towards her, looking her in the eyes before straightening again, hands in pockets, crook tucked through his arm resting on the toe of his boot. ‘I think the trouble is when we are low, we make bad decisions and you kind of know you have made a bad decision and so you stay up all night thinking about it, again and again, then the next day you are tired, irritable, and even more unhappy and you make even worse decisions. Someone says something harmless and you take it the wrong way and the bad decisions just pile on top of each other. Know what I mean?’
‘ It sounds like you are speaking from experience,’ Sarah says.
The shepherd glances at her quickly but stays silent. Sarah can feel the sun burning her. She crosses her arms across her chest, her palms covering her shoulders. The single, large, central tree not far from where they are standing offers an umbrella of shade, and most of the animals are taking advantage of it. The shepherd follows her gaze, nods his head to one side , and they walk together into the shadow. By the tree trunk is a well-worn stone. Sarah wonders how many other shepherds come here and how often this stone has made someone a seat: for years, maybe centuries.
‘ You want to sit?’ he asks, rubbing the stubble on his chin, his fingers teasing the new growth under his nose.
Sarah shakes her head. ‘Are you growing it back?’ He shakes his head, too.
‘ You think I should?’
They stand silently, looking out at the view across the tops of the village houses, to the mountains, pale in the distance.
Sarah ponders the dark weight she battles with inside, sometimes felt so acutely, sometimes shifting so she can feel hope, see beauty. What would life be like without it?
‘ Trouble is, sometimes we can get unhappy with someone else and because of our ties, we say we cannot leave.’ She is not sure if she says the words aloud and a tear forms on the inner edge of her eye, threatening to fall. ‘Sometimes, someone else’s stress can become our own so although we are not truly unhappy, we are just unhappy with our circumstances.’ Sarah surprises herself with her words. Heat rises up her neck and she is glad no one but the shepherd can hear her. She asks herself if what she is saying is true, but she doesn’t know the answer and the meaning of the words drift, repelled by her internal walls, the ones built to keep her safe from challenging thoughts, keeping everything at a distance so nothing can make impact at all, disturb her numbness.
The shepherd sighs. ‘That is the way of it,’ he says slowly as if the conversation is about him. It gives Sarah courage to try and make her thoughts concrete, say more, explore a little.
‘ You know, I think so much is designed to gloss over our unhappiness; television, radio, dinners out, holidays.’ She thinks of Joss and his chase after money blinding him to everything around him, and Laurence’s and his golf. ‘It’s all just a way to take our focus away from what is really going on, that, for some reason, with everything around us removed, we are unhappy,’ she concludes, wishing she could feel her words, but her walls are too thick.
‘ A big blanket of activity keeping all that sadness in,’ the shepherd says. The goats have been eating their way towards them. He picks up a stone and throws it at the feet of the nearest one, with gnarled curling horns and a long beard. It skips away and the others
‘ Hm, you don’t seem so sad.’ He changes hands with his crook.
‘ Ah, sad, not sad, it’s all part of life.’ She tries the philosophical approach but it sounds ridiculous coming from her mouth and she starts to giggle.
‘ Yes, very sad today,’ he teases, chuckling in return. Sarah notices his shirt is clean and ironed today, and he looks less like a farmer. His big black boots are polished too.
‘ You know I think the trouble with being sad—if you were sad, which you are not today,’ he leans his head towards her, looking her in the eyes before straightening again, hands in pockets, crook tucked through his arm resting on the toe of his boot. ‘I think the trouble is when we are low, we make bad decisions and you kind of know you have made a bad decision and so you stay up all night thinking about it, again and again, then the next day you are tired, irritable, and even more unhappy and you make even worse decisions. Someone says something harmless and you take it the wrong way and the bad decisions just pile on top of each other. Know what I mean?’
‘ It sounds like you are speaking from experience,’ Sarah says.
The shepherd glances at her quickly but stays silent. Sarah can feel the sun burning her. She crosses her arms across her chest, her palms covering her shoulders. The single, large, central tree not far from where they are standing offers an umbrella of shade, and most of the animals are taking advantage of it. The shepherd follows her gaze, nods his head to one side , and they walk together into the shadow. By the tree trunk is a well-worn stone. Sarah wonders how many other shepherds come here and how often this stone has made someone a seat: for years, maybe centuries.
‘ You want to sit?’ he asks, rubbing the stubble on his chin, his fingers teasing the new growth under his nose.
Sarah shakes her head. ‘Are you growing it back?’ He shakes his head, too.
‘ You think I should?’
They stand silently, looking out at the view across the tops of the village houses, to the mountains, pale in the distance.
Sarah ponders the dark weight she battles with inside, sometimes felt so acutely, sometimes shifting so she can feel hope, see beauty. What would life be like without it?
‘ Trouble is, sometimes we can get unhappy with someone else and because of our ties, we say we cannot leave.’ She is not sure if she says the words aloud and a tear forms on the inner edge of her eye, threatening to fall. ‘Sometimes, someone else’s stress can become our own so although we are not truly unhappy, we are just unhappy with our circumstances.’ Sarah surprises herself with her words. Heat rises up her neck and she is glad no one but the shepherd can hear her. She asks herself if what she is saying is true, but she doesn’t know the answer and the meaning of the words drift, repelled by her internal walls, the ones built to keep her safe from challenging thoughts, keeping everything at a distance so nothing can make impact at all, disturb her numbness.
The shepherd sighs. ‘That is the way of it,’ he says slowly as if the conversation is about him. It gives Sarah courage to try and make her thoughts concrete, say more, explore a little.
‘ You know, I think so much is designed to gloss over our unhappiness; television, radio, dinners out, holidays.’ She thinks of Joss and his chase after money blinding him to everything around him, and Laurence’s and his golf. ‘It’s all just a way to take our focus away from what is really going on, that, for some reason, with everything around us removed, we are unhappy,’ she concludes, wishing she could feel her words, but her walls are too thick.
‘ A big blanket of activity keeping all that sadness in,’ the shepherd says. The goats have been eating their way towards them. He picks up a stone and throws it at the feet of the nearest one, with gnarled curling horns and a long beard. It skips away and the others
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