short stories
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a little bit of heaven on earth
The wind and rain was raw and mean and would change but for a moment. It would touch your face as soft as a feather, and then all of a sudden the cold would hit you once again, for when nature’s birthing spring, she gets right down to it.
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.
A Lovely Dawn
The sun was streaking the dawn sky pink and mauve, with the perfect light catching the dew on the ears of whiskered barley. With a pair of watching eyes, I marvelled at the majestic flight and mesmeric sound of the seagulls as they rose into the sun, clipping the misty air. As Maverick and I ambled along the narrow lane, I began to reflect on how I had enjoyed the ariel display of the swifts screaming eagerly for the sunset and their mystical star games when we last visited this place.
A Show of Summer Softness
In a small enclave of a wooded copse is a place so delightful and yet so often goes unnoticed and unsung. Here is a place to see wonders great and small; it is the little puzzles and magical ploys it presents to us, where adventures are to be experienced and secrets discovered where no eyes can follow
The Three Little Flies
Ping, Pong and Poo were three little flies.
But only Poo was wise.
They were siblings, full of cheer,
Always buzzing, far and near.
Let The Moments Linger
A youthful looking man with a look of intelligence and sensibility approaches me, “Why bother” he bristles, “Why tell your stories, no-one will listen? This is what you should be talking about, this is what people want”. He thrust his phone into my vision with images of space and science fiction; “This is the future” he said. This came as a thunderbolt to me and I listen intensely to what he has to say.
Lost in Wonder
The sun’s great orange disc was well above the horizon and my lengthening shadow diminished as it stretched far across the meadow. The bucolic landscape here has a great attraction, with dense hedgerows and irregular fields framed by precipitous peaks, where its people contain the quality of the place. As I took my distance again and ambled over the long hummocky fields, I spied a fluffle of baby rabbits feeding and frolicking. I couldn’t help feeling a delicious shiver of excitement as I spotted the white flash of their scuts as they quickly disappeared beneath the tangled hedgerows, where the green of brambles and nettles was well advanced.
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.
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.