Maraid watches her son, James, striding out across the grass, a bottle of milk for each of their visitors in hand. her mother-in-law still knits socks for men who will never wear them. The visitors are here to paint, to record, to celebrate - so they say - this island and its purity, the language all but vanished across the water.
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Maraid watches her son, James, striding out across the grass, a bottle of milk for each of their visitors in hand. her mother-in-law still knits socks for men who will never wear them. The visitors are here to paint, to record, to celebrate - so they say - this island and its purity, the language all but vanished across the water.
