short stories
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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.
galleries and umtitumps
In the early summer, when the hedgerows are white with May (the blossom of the hawthorn), the scent of which is heavy upon the breeze, and the birds singing lustily above, the spirit of the times is felt even underground by the mole—the blind miner whose senses are so keen it triggers him to start breeding in earnest.
The Language of Trees
The transfixing power of the language of the trees is immense. Trees are very sociable and care for and support one another. They hide many wonders that we are only just beginning to understand, they experience pain and have memories too.
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.
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.
A bower of joy
Pondering through the little episodes of my life helps me to realise that many things exist in life that we don’t really see, hear or even understand.
A Bouquet of Dreams
It was a beautiful golden day in May, lapped in light and the heat of noon. The gulls were cleaving the sky with their echoing cries; the wind wandered by the beech and the willows stirring their branches as they softly sighed. The hawthorn too looked sweet and fresh, like apples in rain. The blooming mayflowers that were now sprinkling their floral delights from every spray would soon be fading, as in Autumn they will become laden with a rich bounty of bright red shiny peggles. Maverick and I lingered a while to quaff its heady fragrance, when keen from her lair a spider leaned to procure the many tiny white flies that visited the flowers. I watched the many butterflies’ wings open and close like a hinge, sun blessed as they basked in the warmth of the sun, the bees too were droning their sounds rising as gradual as a lute, becoming almost meditative.
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.
An Oasis of Calm
In the heart of every winter is a quivering spring and with the rain now shrunk to a drizzle, the limpid grey clouds are brighter and clearer for my sake.
Woodrow and Friends
Woodrow arrives home late from school. His mum had already prepared tea and was waiting for Woody to arrive home. Just then a grubby little face peeps around the door. “Where have you been Woody, you’re late, what have you been up to?” “Sorry mum, I’ve been with my mates, Chiggy, Chuggy, Tiggy, Fuzzy and Roly.
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.
One Moonlit Night
Through a little gate at the bottom of the garden is a buttercup meadow, where a fox I named Finbar often frequented. He was aware of my presence as I felt his stare, but knowing my scent had no fear of me. I watched as he stretched out his length in the sunshine, I could see his long ears and his elliptical eyes. I named him Finbar, for a name makes a difference, be it a person or an animal, don’t deal with them as strangers.
WILDFLOWERS
Rich and fertile,
Rough and ready,
Wild and free,
Tough and steady.
I love the luxuriant profusion and mad scatter of a meadow swathed in wildflowers. A beautiful tapestry of colour and scent, swaying harmoniously together in the breeze, trying their best to invite pollinators but also symbolises unity. After the first full moon of May,
a stroke of luck
The hurrying images of that day danced through my mind as a shiver of fear tingled through my body; I feel the awful brooding weight of that time acting on me like a chloroform pad.
little boy blue
On many of our adventures whether on pathless woods or where the waves break on a low sandy shore, Blue and I would settle a while. Blue is my trusty Blue Roan Cocker Spaniel. He would sit on his haunches with a morose appearance watching his master. A watchful sleepy eye would appear and analyse the footsteps, creaks and sounds around him. Blue stood slack but ready, his smooth narrow head flickered as he shifted his gaze, his growls grew more menacing, his eyes becoming fixed in their stare.
Woodrow and Friends’ Woodland Adventure
Woodrow came home from school and handed a letter to his mum, it was from Mr. Slater his teacher. The letter was about a school trip with an overnight stay in Gribble Woods. As Winnie Woody’s mum reads the letter Woody could not contain his excitement and cries out “Can I go mum, please, the place is whispery with good ghosts’ mum, and Mr. Slater is a wonderful storyteller.” Winnie asks about his teacher, “Is he married Woody, what does he look like?”
The Edge Lands of our Waterways
I awake early as the day dawns and the morning bright. Woven between dew laden brambles sparkling in the sun was the hoariest grey and white of the spider’s web telling me the promise of a lovely day. They are nature’s weather forecasters, for if she sits in the centre of her web with her eyes downcast, the day will be clear and bright.
A Bouquet of Dreams
It was a beautiful golden day in May, lapped in light and the heat of noon. The gulls were cleaving the sky with their echoing cries; the wind wandered by the beech and the willows stirring their branches as they softly sighed. The hawthorn too looked sweet and fresh, like apples in rain. The blooming mayflowers that were now sprinkling their floral delights from every spray would soon be fading, as in Autumn they will become laden with a rich bounty of bright red shiny peggles. Maverick and I lingered a while to quaff its heady fragrance, when keen from her lair a spider leaned to procure the many tiny white flies that visited the flowers. I watched the many butterflies’ wings open and close like a hinge, sun blessed as they basked in the warmth of the sun, the bees too were droning their sounds rising as gradual as a lute, becoming almost meditative.