Flash fiction by Helen McClory, images by Karen McRae
I finished eating the cold block of Kendal mint cake and folded the wrapper up and put it in my pocket. My grandmother always sends me mint cake in the summer, which is when she wants me to be rambling. She sends little bars of lavender and rose soap too. While I prefer to eat the mint cakes in the winter when I need the refreshment. I had paused towards the end of my hike, heading off the hill and towards home as shadow was beginning to press against the steep rock flanks of the valley. The pass was straightforward even in deep snow, but there were two choices, the loop, or the direct, by which I had come. I chose the loop. Dark came and the temperature dropped, and I felt even better than I had on the summit. I put on my head torch, swung my arms and sang bits of song as they occurred to me. Then, ahead to one side of the quiet snow-blue path, I saw a figure, standing, hunched. I stopped.
It was no bigger than a child, and must have been a child, slim-built. But crooked, wrapped in heavy brown cloth like a monk’s robes, up to his knees in snow-cladding. I turned my head to one side – trying to keep the figure in the light without losing them, and saw the slope to the side of the path, where more and more of them were. The same crookedness, the same hooded, faceless features, all repeated with slight variation. On the ground, even, some lay stretched out, with others looking gravely over them. It had taken time for me to process the sight but eventually I came to realise I was looking at nothing, just a plantation of new saplings wrapped up in old jute against the cold by the park services. The soughing wind moved a few, bent them in my direction. Deep bows from the trees. I bowed back, and shaking my head, immediately sprang to walking again. 
I had no urgent need to get home, there was no one waiting for me, and everything in my house would be clean and orderly. Dinner of game and potatoes in the slow cooker. My father’s vinyl collection to choose from for a soundtrack to the evening’s reading. But I began to walk faster. I did not seek out a reason for this. I simply no longer sang, but spent my energy following the spotlight from my head torch. I could see nothing more, and needed to see nothing more.
I could see nothing more than that light, and the path ahead which looped around the frozen lake, and this plantation, built where the old hotel had been. All down the gentle descent to the lake the wrapped trees stood, not moving, but always beside me. Keeping pace. But without moving, I told myself. The wind has music in it, and voices. Anyone who hikes by themselves often enough will tell you that. The landscape has animals in it, and avalanches waiting to powder and pound the slopes and anything that hazards to stand against its momentum. But a field of small, fragile trees, what are they, out in the dark snow – I pulled up my scarf to cover my face. Though I was still sure I could not find in myself anything like fear. I had long since overcome the ability to feel spontaneous unease, and felt no loss, as I had overcome many other losses in my quiet, homely life. It was only the chill increasing, beginning to freeze my hair and turn it white. I walked faster again. 
It was a few more minutes, and I neared the mouth of the pass where I had parked my car that morning, leaving the note of my location, should I have come to grief at any point. I scanned the way: at a low wall bounding the car park, six trees stood, kneeling as if in prayer. In desperate, broken prayer. It was the wind, though I did not feel it, that turned them to me. It was the wind that raised their jute-covered bodies from kneeling, and lifted up, with a low sigh, their unseen, sightless heads.
Helen McClory is a writer from Scotland. Her first collection, On The Edges Of Vision, will be published by Queen’s Ferry Press in August 2015. There is a moor and a cold sea in her heart.
The Plantation Loop is a collaboration by Helen McClory and myself, Karen McRae. These wrapped tree images make me think of her uncanny stories so I sent her some photographs and asked if she’d be willing to collaborate by writing a flash fiction piece to accompany them. I’m delighted she agreed! You can find more succulent writing by Helen on her blog Schietree. If the wrapped trees interest you, you can find more here.
images © Karen McRae, 2014
writing © Helen McClory, 2014
draw and shoot 
this is so extraordinary Karen… hauntingly beautiful
Thank you very much, Anthony. I photographed these quite a while ago but the wrapped trees stick with me. As does Helen’s writing!
This is a stunning collaboration. Congrats to you both. Vivid, powerful writing to match your images so very well. Deep thanks for this work, and for sharing it here with all of us.
I’m so glad you enjoyed it, Sydney, thank you. I love Helen’s writing and was happy she agreed to collaborate.
Thanks for a strange and wonderful post. Such extraordinary pictures, and delectable writing. An amazing collaboration!
Thanks for taking the time to read and comment, I’m glad you enjoyed it!
What a wonderful collaboration! And you know these photos are my favorites – lovely, Karen!
I think they might be my favourites, too, Kathleen. It’s fun to post some images I hadn’t before and I love the story!
A brilliant collaboration, superb photographs and writing. I enjoyed this very much Karen and Helen!
I’m happy you did, Adrian, thank you!
Truly remarkable. A great moment of vision. Thanks.
Thanks very much, Harold.
One vision dovetails into the other. A terrific collaboration.
A little spooky fun for the season, I’m glad you liked it Elena, thank you. : )
A great ghostly atmosphere of spirits…perfect for Halloween!
Hi Scilla, thank you. It was fun to put together.
What a fabulous collaboration! Perfect pairing of words and images!–Patti
Thank you, Patti.
The wrapped trees are fascinating.. something so haunting and uneasy about them. What a great pairing this text and images makes – a beautiful collaboration!
Those trees fascinated me too (obviously), such interesting subjects to photograph. I love Helen’s story as the tension increases, I’m glad you had time to read it. Thanks for your comment, Emily.
Wonderful!
Thanks, Rabirius.
Fantastic collection, Karen !
—-goes further and further by following “more”, I dropped my jaw.
Your images are so extraordinarily.
Thanks so much, Yoshizen! What a great reaction. : )
I thought for a moment it was you having mintcake, Karen. Thought it was good for you before meeting these creatures. Congratulations with the collaborations. it works really well.
I had to look up Kendal Mint Cake, it’s got a bit of a history: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kendal_Mint_Cake
Thanks for your comment, Bente.
Creepy pictures and story i liked it 🙂 perfect Halloween present
Yes, happy Halloween! I’m glad you enjoyed the story and images. : )
Excellent collaboration. “Sightless heads” is such an arresting image, as are the photographs.
Yes, I also love the way the story builds to ‘sightless heads’. Thanks for your comment, Chris.
The shots coupled with the prose are fantastic. Not something to see in the half-light of dusk.
Yes, I never did photograph them at night but that would have been fascinating.
Thanks so much!
The fiction and photos work so very well together. I assume this will be first of several fruitful collaborations.
Yes, the fiction is perfect. Thank you, I’m happy you enjoyed the post.
I do enjoy collaborations! There’s another one here: https://drawandshoot.me/2012/11/17/drawing-on-water-a-collaboration/
Amazing collaboration, love both your photos and the storywriting is very well done too!
Thanks for sharing, greetings,
Ron.
Thanks for taking the time to read, Ron, much appreciated.
Wonderful MashUp. For Halloween too!
Yes, thank you, Happy Halloween! Don’t scare too many children, Rohan. 😉
Would your wrapped tree like to dance with my skeleton?
Yes, probably the monster mash(up)!
Yes, excellent post, Karen! My favourite amongst your pictures is the fourth one down, where you’re down below the figures so that they’re up against the sky – here they look especially human, distraught, windswept, bent over and pitiful. Adrian
Thank you, Adrian. I wish they were still around to photograph, I feel like I could have explored their strangeness endlessly.
Sightless heads! What a great phrase. Wonderful collaboration – the objective and the mysterious. I love your images, Karen – nice to see them again, writing their private narratives.
What a collaboration! Best thing I’ve seen on here for ages.
Great collaboration – it was your wrapped trees that first bought me to your site – I love them sentinels to so much experience. Thank you
Lovely & spooky! PS, you & the brisk wind today reminded me that I need to get covers on our crops, too. 🙂
Fantastic collaboration. Great writing & such phenomenal images.
Amazing site, creepy, haunting, emotional.
looks so interesting and nicely captured 🙂
I always loved these images – it was a great idea to ask Helen to collaborate. I love “Deep bows from the trees.” And I think I may have told you beofre, these bring the memory of when I was a gardener/landscaper and we wrapped our boxwood against the New York cold. I loved the results, but alas don’t have good photos. So thank you for taking this as far as your vivid imagination could, and more!
I remember the first time I had seen these in your blog, probably three years ago. 🙂
Great photos, Karen!
Wonderful collaboration, and I’m happy to see the wrapped trees again!!
I had to come back when my brain was ‘in’ to read the story. The images and text suit each other perfectly; I can see why you invited Helen to write something. Your wrapped tree images have long since been some of my favourites and just recently I revisited them.
Totally brilliant combination – this story had me hooked in right from the beginning..and I always love to see the return of the trees!