Quynh loves Enya
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12 Oct 2020
The angels visit them on a sheep farm in rural Iceland, of all places, bubbling wildly out of a pot of mutton stew on the stove. As Joe and Nicky shrink back against the old plaster walls of the shepherd’s house, feathers and eyes and moonbeams coalescing from their dinner’s steam, it’s hailing outside. Many years later, Nicky will recall the sound of ice breaking on the roof, November weather, sheep huddled under the eaves. Joe, when asked, will think past the kaleidoscopic air, rippling up to the ceiling vent like the world’s smallest oasis, to the bulb of garlic on the counter, and how it began to flower. A dead thing, opening itself into two slim green shoots, purple flowers bristling.
Joe and Nicky are given a gift.