short stories
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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.
The charms of nature-Spellbound
Yesterday was a bright, calm sunny morning. The sun shone over fields of amber grain, where red poppies danced in the wind’s breath. Across the dewy fields the cattle lay in verdant green pastures. Under the massing clouds, radiant dewdrops lay in shiny pouches, like a looking glass that lay upon the thistle heads which were cool to the touch. I noticed the beautiful white cup-shaped flowers of intertwined convolvulus amidst them. However, yesterday had become history, today is mystery, as I watched the waves of colour seeping layer upon layer through the dark clouds and observed how they began to race each other across the open fields. The dawn was glorious, the air filled with song, with each bird proclaiming the new day.
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.
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.
The seaside Adventures Of Woodrow the Woodlouse
Woody the woodlouse makes his way home from school one day; He couldn’t wait to tell his mum what Mr. Slater his teacher what he had taught him in the classroom. .
Our Distant and Day Long Rambles
Beneath the flailed clippings of a hawthorn hedge is the home of Fidget and her little friend Piccolo. This is the place where Bob and his trusty spaniel Blue would frequent every morning, a little lane which winds like loose string baffling your sense of direction.