What I Realised When Van Gogh Was Telling Me When I Looked At Green Wheat Fields, Auvers, 1890

Look how the wheat is stirred by the breeze, says the guide and our necks undulate this way and that as if we are on a raft, feeling each ripple of the field. Impasto, she adds and I wait for Hugh’s theatrical whisper. Thickly textured he announces as the group moves on. I stay, looking at the rise and fall of flowing lines, swirls; each stroke says freedom, possibility.
Hugh doesn’t turn around to look for me. And so I listen to the swell of thoughts that I have long pushed down and let myself be carried out the door.

This story was shortlisted in the July monthly micro fiction competition.

About the author:

Catherine Ogston writes flash, short stories and longer fiction.