The Aran   This woman’s hands recall her grandmother’s: a pair of billing doves, crouched close in her lap, weaving wool in their beaks. The threads are thick as twine and oiled good as a seagull’s weatherproof. On rainy coastal walks they will hold out. Under her darting fingers the twisting ribs cable down like currents in rivers, the broad ropes of fast-running water. … Continue reading ‘The Aran’ by Anna Wigley