short stories
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Devils and Angels
In years gone by the magpie a member of the crow family was a rare sight. They are a beautiful large bird with exceptionally fine plumage of black, white and blue, their beauty concealing a violent and menacing disposition. Their diet consisted of worms, beetles and carrion. However, as our roads became much busier due to the ever-increasing amounts of traffic, so too did the amounts of roadkill.
Bobbit Comes Home
Beyond the orchard was a little place called bunny hollow where the rabbits tell their fear by thumping their hind legs and where the beehives range in the orchard half hidden by the tall weeds. There in the undergrowth stood an old shepherd hut looking rather worse for wear, the curtains drawn, and the door locked; under the third step was the key. Above the door was a small plaque with the name ‘Bobbit’ beautifully painted, but who was he? Many myths had grown up around him; he had been presented as an ascetic, a recluse, even a village mystic.
MINDFULNESS – The Artist’s Way
In the cloudless blue coloured sky, I watched a crow and a buzzard rise way up high, they then fought a spiralling duel, with the buzzard making all the noise as they continued to carve the sky. Finally, they disappeared into the silhouetted woods, for the wise old crow knew the buzzard’s menacing intentions and had taken the buzzard away from his nesting site.
MARCH – The Season of Hope
Far away a lonely bell was ringing, and it echoes through my mind, for here I come when fuss and fret seems set to overwhelm. As I stop to listen, I could hear the cries of the herring gulls sailing high above. Suddenly two gulls fall from the sky, the male then begins a long-drawn-out cry raising and lowering his head. His cries are audible above the thrum of the traffic close by, and intrude my thoughts, arresting my attention. He then dances for her with potent perplexing sounds, woven into dense mesmeric spells, which hide inside its complexity and posits the existence of an invisible natural force.
FEBRUARY – A Coastal Ramble
With the forecast of a fine day ahead we decided to take a trip to the seaside. In times gone by we would frequent this coastal haven with Blue our faithful spaniel who loved this place and adored his walks along the seafront and chasing gulls along the beach. With Maverick my new companion at my side we followed in Blue’s footsteps. We decided to stop off at the Botanical Gardens to stretch our legs where we were delighted with floral displays.
JANUARY – A Winter’s Mantle
There is a huge calm sky above on this January morn, as the low sun bathes the land with golden light, and with just a fret of wind, the rain had delayed its coming. With a diamond wink of the sun, my trusty companion Maverick and I head for the fields and woods once again.
DECEMBER -Winter’s Grim
The heavy rainfall in November had silvered every twig and branch with heavy raindrops, that slide gently, merging into depths and flooding the land. The water lay in vast catchments over long periods as the ground was already turgid enticing many gulls inland. Like technicolour snowflakes, the autumn leaves had fallen silently without the merest whisper of a sound, a palette of many colours now lying dormant that will decay and become vital nourishment, given freely without delay.
Idle Thoughts
Little Maverick would always greet me with a stretch and a yawn, bound across and sit to attention with his head in the air, waiting eagerly to be patted and told what a good boy he really is, then with demi-pause he rises and runs to the door. With keen anticipation we make our way across the fields to the rhynes and ditches where my ear catches the sound of a male blackcap and I garner the quality of his song. As I caretake in the moment I immerse myself into the landscape. All the while Maverick rests easy watching the moorhens with their ingratitude of chicks, feeding diligently on a smorgasbord of scattered food. Suddenly from the reeds, Stumpy the rat joins the throng. With his three paws down, he wobbles around feasting himself on the tasty delights.
NOVEMBER – An Autumn Spectacle
On frosty mornings when the fog veils the fields with an eerie haunting loneliness, there is a spooky ethereal quality as if there is something hidden from me. However. there is no caveat alarm as a pall of grey hangs over the sky, where a thronging of geese, indistinguishable, were exploding into an echo of sound.
OCTOBER- the season of Acorns, Cobnuts and Conkers
With the autumn sun now at a lower angle in the sky, Maverick and I lead our longer shadows over harvest fields now ploughed and forsaken. The sky began to break like an ice cap, where cracks in the laden clouds widen to crevices of weightless blue. All around the leaves of the hazel amongst the hedgerows took on the golden-green of spring in the beams of the low autumn sun.
SEPTEMBER -The Mysterious Season of mist and Spiders
It was a sultry day after the sun had drunk the dew. The hedges in the hedgerow had been studiously fretted trim. But there, woven between the dew-laden branches were festoons of spider’s webs, far more than previous years, where the dew drops hung trembling on the translucent whisps, enhancing their beauty. There the spider will be waiting, just out of sight, and with the slightest vibration she will come to seize. They are resilient intricate artists and are adorned with many skills.
AUGUST – The Mute Season
It is now early August, the lanes and the woods are silent, without the pellucid sound of birds singing. Only the yellowhammers in the hedgerows are with song. In the skies above the cries of the buzzards can be heard. This is the time when birds begin their summer moult to replace their suit of feathers ready for the harshness of winter.
JULY-Thunderheads and Lightning
It was now early July, the morning was fine, the sky blue, and the clouds below like fluffy white balls of cotton. The lane was awash with the great willowherb, a splash of pinkish mauve amongst the tall umbellifers. There was an abundance of golden yellow ragwort, this plant being the distain of many, but not for the ephemeral wings of the cinnabar moth who rears her yellow and black striped caterpillars on this tenacious plant.
JUNE-Flaming June
It is now early June, and the sky was full of gold, painting the little lane with summer magic. The air was alive and humming with bees collecting sweetness from the daisied fields. I love the luxuriant profusion and mad scatter of our wonderful wildflowers, and the vast array of male hoverflies carousing around them.
MAY-The Glistening Maytime
It was a fine soft day in spring and with the cloud-castled sky above it absorbed the moments’ meaning. I love the way nature responds to the seasons, weather and maturity, it delights me, it’s a work of art. Here is a place to find treasures to enlarge the mind by contemplation, for there is no wi-fi here, but I can promise that you’ll find a better connection, with memories that will never fade.
APRIL—Looking for Beauty
As winter drifted into spring, the colds’ great bearhug that had embraced all had now released her grip and forsaken us. The bird songs are melodious and multitudinous in the burgeoning dawn of a glorious new day. As I ambled through soft green pastures where cleft-born wildflowers were soaking up the heat from the sun, a timorous hare leapt forth to feed on a rich supply of variable grasses.
Purple Rain
As I slumber in a mantle that covers all human thoughts, I am awakened by the rain. Sweeping across the fields outside my window it lashes the panes leaving artistic rivulets of water obscuring my view. But the wind soon lost its strength and began to blow more leisurely. I like watching places wake up, the changing light, the mood of the sky and the freshness of the new morning. I love to listen to the song thrush that sings its song twice, but sadly not this morning.
Moon Shadow
When the night pulls her gentle curtain across the sky the clouds then begin to let my minds running script be like the clouds themselves.
Clouds excite me, stir my blood and make my thoughts flow. I fear science would steal away my imagination. Although dusk is a mesmerising time of day, when the sun sets, the light dims and shadows begin to fall. They become inter-twined with light,
A Calm Repose
My first visit to this peaceful place felt like a communion of sound and colour that was to open new creative possibilities. My new senses act like an antenna picking up signals. I began to tune in to the sound of my steps, feel the wind, the sound of the swaying branches. My mind makes space for what is to come. I take a breath or two, lose my eyes and tune into my new surroundings. The feeling I have is calm and uplifting. It took me back to something I may have lost a long time ago and had forgotten.
By the Streamside
As I walk the hills and follow a little path that recedes to the point where two paths blur and join, I hear the sound of a man’s voice. His voice is urgent as he calls his dog but yet he is trying not to be seen. He has white bushy eyebrows which give him a severe owlish gaze.