Sunday, December 17, 2017


Post 1652. Sunday December 17

It was cold. So cold, I swear I saw my children’s snowman shiver. Every breath was painful, it was as cold as a winter’s night could be. I walked down the twisting lane heeding every step lest I slip on the carpet of snow beneath my feet. Either side the grassy banks stood rigid, white. White topped hedgerows sparkled in the moonlight, and distant barren trees wove a border of lace twixt the glistening field and the grey winter’s sky above. The shadow of a man, head bowed kept me company. It was mine.

I trudged into the village. There was not a soul to be seen, just six disgruntled ducks standing motionless on the frozen pond. All was quiet but for the crunching of the snow beneath my boots. As I turned a corner I saw a distant golden glow. As I walked towards it, quietly at first, then more loudly, the sound of merriment and laughter filled the air. I had arrived. I pushed open the heavy oak door at once my spirits rose amid the sounds, smells, and warmth of the ancient inn.

“Mine's a brandy landlord, and make it a large one!”

Word count 196

Thursday, December 14, 2017


Post 1651. Thursday December 14

“So, here we are at your first classical concert and we have the best seats right in the middle, now remember, no singing along, no cheering, no waving your arms, ok?“

“Don’t think much of this tune” says he.

“It’s not the tune, they are tuning their instruments, they'll start playing soon” say I.

“Why are they still tuning their instruments?” asks he.

“They are not, this is the tune, I give up, we are going” I say.

“Excuse me, sir, excuse me madam, whoops your toes, pardon me please, oh dear, your sweeties, excuse me sir, sorry madam……....”

This week's cue at Six Sentence Stories is Tune


Wednesday, December 13, 2017


Post 1650. Wednesday December 13

Friday Fictioneers

As night drapes a blanket of darkness over a slumbering world, I slink away into the stillness of the street. I hear the rustle of fallen leaves, the rattle of a discarded can cartwheeling along the gutter. I spin my head toward a screeching owl for I am not alone on my nightly journey. I turn again as a fox skips from one overfilled dustbin to another. A bat swoops. Fluttering moths frantically fly around a street lamp whilst a spider weaves a web with which to harvest the flying fruits of dawn.

We are the creatures of the night. Our night. Ours.

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Sandra Crook for the picture.



Post 1649. Tuesday December 12

What’s today? Monday? No, it’s Friday because I just ate fish and chips. There’s my plate. See? Yes, Friday.

I had a good memory once. I used to take part in quizzes.

I did – didn’t I?

Why is this happening to me? Why me? It makes me so ANGRY!

Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.

It’s like mind is trying to look through a misted window. It makes out shapes but not the detail.

You wouldn't understand, why should you?

Who are you anyway?

My son? What son?

You’re an imposter. You are just after my money.

Sorry son. Sorry. Please forgive me.

My nurse is lovely. Jenny. No, Jacqui. I think.

You’d like her. She has the most beautiful black hair.

She understands me. She wipes my misty window, and for a few precious moments, everything makes sense.

But then it steams up again and I forget what I remembered.

Anyway, cheer up. We're having fish and chips tonight!  Do you want some? Julie will be bringing it soon.

She has the most beautiful blonde hair.

Thanks, Priceless Joy for hosting and Yarnspinnerr for the picture.

Word count 175


Sunday, December 10, 2017


Post 1648. Sunday December 10

‘Look Daddy, the fairies are back! They are dancing round and round’ She often saw them, but all I could see was the little village I made for her at the bottom of the garden. 'They are waving to us Daddy, do you see?'

‘So they are’ I said, waving one hand whilst crossing the fingers of the other! Well, it was only a white lie.

Maria was born poorly. Unable to walk unaided, she would sit in her wheelchair for hours on end singing, laughing, and talking with the fairies. We knew her life would be short, but the end came far sooner than we expected. Just eight short years, but joyous ones nonetheless.

This morning when I opened the curtains I saw a ring of fairies dancing round and round in the little village at the bottom of the garden. They waved to me and I waved back The prettiest of them all was little Maria.

Word count 158

Thank you, Eric Wiklund for providing this week's inspirational photograph.

Thursday, December 07, 2017


Post 1647. Thursday December 7

It’s going to snow the weatherman said.

So I polished the bottom of a tea tray and put a tea cosy on my head.

I stuck my hands in some oven gloves and borrowed two of granddad's walking sticks.

I strapped tennis rackets to my feet and climbed to the top of the mountain hill.

Then I waited....and waited....and waited.

It rained.

This week's cue at Six Sentence Stories is Stick


Wednesday, December 06, 2017


Post 1646. Wednesday December 6

Friday Fictioneers

Just weeks ago my window framed a palette of colour. Gaudy blooms, branches dressed in quivering leaves of green, and puffs of white drifting ‘cross a sky of deepest blue. But not today. Flowers have run to seed and trees resemble stark frosted skeletons. Grey clouds hang low and an icy wind whispers winter.

As I turn my gaze toward the orange glow of a crackling log fire, warmth fills my cheeks. Steam wafts from a comforting bowl of soup assaulting my senses. Here, winter is shut outside. As I draw the curtains, I am reminded that no matter the season, life is good.

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Dale Rogerson for the chilly picture!