For Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt.
As far as the eye could see stretched an ocean of acid yellow. The whole countryside was a blanket of colour that glowed with a sinister luminosity on stormy days. She’d heard they’d used the stuff to soak up some of the muck from Chernobyl. It looked like the kind of plant would like radioactive food. She remembered years and years ago, when she was a child, and there had been woods and cows here, a bit of potato and a bit of cabbage. Rapeseed was more profitable though.
She walked the straight farm track that cut through the yellow, towards the only bit of green in sight. She smiled as the field came to an abrupt end at the foot of a low hill. Not a hill, a rath. She said the word to herself as she climbed the fence, rather stiffly, that had been put there to keep the cattle off the slopes and now kept the yellow sea in its place. Thorn bushes grew in great clumps, and hazel and oak crowned the summit. She found a place that caught the sun when it came out, and sat, listening to the leaves and watching the clouds.
They’d never dare plant on the rath, she thought. Nobody. Not even the new style farmers with their fancy crops and their shiny machinery. The air was old here, and the earth. Who knew what lay among the tree roots? The air was old and it whispered. She listened and nodded.
“I’ll bide a little while longer,” she said aloud. “But by sunset, I’ll be gone.”
The leaves rustled, the blackbirds sang, and she drank in the ancient air. Just a little while longer.