short stories
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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.
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.
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.