Jack Vettriano The Great Poet

Jack Vettriano The Great PoetJack Vettriano The Gathering CloudsJack Vettriano The First Audition
Susan saddled the horse and mounted up.
Beyond Death's garden were fields of corn, their golden sheen the only colour in the landscape. Death might not have been any good at grass (black) and apple trees (gloss black on black), but all the depth of colour he hadn't put elsewhere he'd put inand just stood, looking around.
Binky followed the path and stopped at the end.
Then he turned, managing not to disturb a single ear.
'I don't know how you do this,' Susan whispered, 'but you must be able to do it, and you know where I want to go.'
The horse appeared to nod. Albert had said that Binky was a genuine flesh‑and‑blood horse, but maybe you couldn't be ridden by Death for hundreds of years without learning something. He looked as though he'd been pretty bright to start with. the fields. They rippled as if in the wind, except that there wasn't any wind.Susan couldn't imagine why he'd done it.There was a path, though. It led across the fields for half a mile or so, then disappeared abruptly. It looked as though somebody walked out here occasionally