The Windy Day, Mamma

The wind is stark, roaring past her ears and rippling the red and yellow gorse that stubbles the stone. Stone formations rise up here and there, like massive cairns or crenelations. The multicolored clumps of vegetation seethe in the wind, as if trying to free themselves from the mountain side. With a view of the sea, she can see the division where disparit currents meet. Deep blue bruising itself against sun dappled turquoise.