Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Wordless Wednesday

Posted Tuesday August 16

Some pictures I took last month whilst camping in The Peak District, Derbyshire, England.

Click on pics to enlarge

















Wordless Wednesday




Sunday, August 14, 2016

Sunday Photo Fiction

Posted Sunday August 14



She loved to dance. From the moment she walked, she danced. I can still see her, all those years ago, in her little pointy pink costume, those wrinkled sparkly white leggings, and little silver ballet shoes; spinning, pirouetting, leaping...laughing. She had dolls, of course she did. But her dolls were little dancers. She would hold them at arm’s length and skip and whirl; then collapse with them in a giggling giddy heap on the floor!

We always knew she would have a career in dance. What else? She went away to ballet school, and we saw less and less of her. But we understood why it was necessary.

Her mother and I were so proud when years later we sat in the front row of the west end theatre.  We never doubted that day would come. Her Swan enthralled us. Her grace, her poise enchanted the audience.

The ballet does not have a happy ending, and sadly fantasy became reality. I have no wish to say more. It pains me to think about what happened, or why.

I have a beautiful fuchsia in my garden. Its delicate blooms have pink pointy petals. Like dancers. Like her. Just like her.







Sunday Photo Fiction

.

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Friday Fictioneers

Posted Thursday August 11



She sits and stares. Unfocused eyes swimming to the horizon, gazing into infinity. No sign of tears. Her expressionless face an empty canvas, a sea of pallor.

I look into her eyes. I see nothing but a swirling mist of grey, that sparkle gone. I try to ask why, but a cloud of despair envelopes her. She hears me not.

I will wait. I’ll stay by her side for as long as it takes for her to return. But for now, she walks a path of her own. Somewhere. Alone. I know not where.




Thank you Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and Adam Ickes for the inspirational photograph.







.




.

Sunday, August 07, 2016

The Sunday Whirl


Posted Sunday August 7



See that man over there Ted?

‘im Bill? ‘im crunchin’ on a bag of crisps?

Yes Ted. Arthur Wood's his name. Timber they call him. They say he’s worth a mint and I don’t mean a lorry load of Polos.

‘ow come Bill?

Well Ted, he used to play the horses. The Derby and all that. The thrill of the chase he used to call it.

s'in the bank is it Bill?

‘parently not Ted. They say it’s in a steel container ‘neath his floorboards.

Perhaps I ought to get to know ‘im Bill. I could do with a bit‘a cash right now.

No Ted. I’d leave him well alone.  Brenda behind the bar says he’s a bit irascible.

A bit what Bill? You swallowed the dictionary? What’s iras..iras..b..le?

I don’t know Ted, but I’ll tell you what, he’s very grumpy.

Where’s ‘e live Bill?

In the old Toll House Ted. Why?

I’ve got an idea Bill. I’ve got an idea!


This week's 12 words at The Sunday Whirl are - Crunch, contain, irascible, toll, timber, trill, sin, instil, mint, man, play, thrill. I have used 10 and chopped another to bits!

 

Saturday, August 06, 2016

Sunday's Whirligig

Posted Saturday August 6


Golden sparks from the hissing crackling fire fly skyward. Wishes not granted, dreams not caught; memories of forlorn times; be gone.  
I craved a life which was one step distant. Sometimes reaching out to grasp a taunting hand. Almost, nearly, but ever inches away.
Start again. Begin anew. Make plans; achievable plans. Shout to the future, I’m on my way!
Yesterday is now but a pile of crumbling blackened dust. A gust of wind sends it tumbling off  into the distant past.
I smile. Good times, here I come!

This week's words at Sunday's Whirligig are:- almost, yesterday, sometimes, shout, caught, firefly, long, time, wish, make, good, park

.

Wednesday, August 03, 2016

Friday Fictioneers

Posted Wednesday August 3




I clanged the bell. ‘Time gentlemen please’ I yelled.

‘What about the ladies?’ chortled Annie as she coughed, spluttered and stumbled into the steet.

I’d been landlord of the Brewers for thirty years but night after night, year in year out, it was at closing time I felt my loneliest.

The banter and merry laughter of minutes ago rang in my ears as I turned the key in the lock. My finger lingered over the light switch. It always did. I hated turning out the lights.

It was then I thought I saw Annie, sitting in the corner. She raised a glass to me. ‘Cheers’ she whispered.

'Have one last drink with me Annie. Please?' I begged as I flicked the switch.





.







Thanks Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers for hosting and Ted Strutz for the photo prompt