Air fills with movement
Fleeting insects buzz, dart, dance
A feast on the wing
I had intended to share my monthly Changing Seasons post today but unfortunately I haven’t actually finished sorting through all of the photos I’ve taken. I’ve visited and photographed the meadow so many times over the past few weeks that I have an absolute mountain of them!
Luckily I have edited enough of the pictures of insects to share a few of them. These are all ones I won’t be using on The Changing Seasons post but that I like too much to just leave sitting, unseen, in a folder on my computer. I hope you like them.
I thought I’d leave you with a final picture – the photographing of which actually inspired the haiku but that wasn’t in focus enough to be placed at the top of the page. I didn’t want to leave it completely off, though.
This post is for Priceless Joy’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. This week’s prompt was provided by me.
Photo prompt – © The Storyteller’s Abode
“It’s just your eyes playing tricks on you,” everyone always told her. “None of it’s real.” Even her grandmother – who told the most wonderful stories – had always waved a dismissive hand and said, “Your imagination is running away with you again, my girl.”
She hadn’t believed them. Not as a laughing five-year old who watched fairies dance among the wildflowers. Not as a twelve-year old who’d befriended a scarecrow and had adventures with goblins. And not as a twenty-year old forced to sit on the shrink’s couch.
Her ability to see a world invisible to other eyes was no longer viewed as childish imagination – now the words ‘hallucination’ and ‘delusion’ were frequently whispered.
“No,” she told the psychiatrist. “I’ve not seen a thing in months.”
Tonight she’d wash another jar of pills down the sink – she knew her mind better then any doctor ever could. Tomorrow she’d visit with her friends.
Old Aubrey the scarecrow waved from his field as she walked down the long path home. Smiling, she waved back.
Word Count: 175
To view the other entries, click the blue frog.
In case anyone is curious, the photograph was taken in Cornwall in the little village of Lizard on the Lizard peninsula, the most southerly place on mainland Britain. There were several scarecrows around the village – the result, we discovered, of a recent scarecrow festival. Unfortunately I only managed to photograph three of them as I only spotted the rest from the car as we drove away. Here are the other two:
This post is for The Sometimes Stellar Storyteller’s Six Word Story Challenge. This week’s prompt is: discontent.
Image from Pixabay
Irritation simmers, expanding: ready to explode.
This post is for Sonya’s Three Line Tales.
Photo prompt – © Martins Zemlickis
He ran to escape the anger and fear that had dominated his life for so long, each stride distancing him from the demons of his past. He ran towards dreams of a bright future full of love and hope. He ran because he could – because he was free, unfettered, and no one could stop him.
This post is for Priceless Joy’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, a challenge that asks you to write a story of 100-175 words based on the photo prompt below. This week’s picture was provided by TJ Paris. Thank you TJ!
Photo prompt – © TJ Paris
The library had always been her sanctuary, her escape from life’s hubbub – until her world had crumbled.
Frances groaned, head in hands. Tears pricked her eyes. It was a sensation she’d become too familiar with over the past year. Grief clung, shroud-like, tainting her emotions. The only things she felt with any vehemence were loss and pain.
Every action since the day she’d cradled her son’s broken body had been driven by a need for justice. Determined, she’d sought evidence against the company whose equipment had caused her tragedy – and the man at its head.
Sometimes she wondered why she bothered.
It wasn’t as if anything she did made a difference. Nothing she’d found would prove the case against Willis. He was just too rich. Too powerful. What could a single woman do against his army of lawyers? She rubbed her aching temples.
“You can do it, Ma,” Jamie’s voice whisped. His ephemeral scent haunted her senses. She breathed deep, defeat dissipating as she embraced precious memories.
She would not let Willis win.
Word Count – 175
To read the other entries, click the little blue frog.
Every Wednesday, all across the internet, bloggers post a picture with no words to explain it. Here is mine.
This post is for Sunday Photo Fiction, a challenge that asks you to write a story of around 200 words inspired by the photo prompt below.
Photo prompt – © All Forbes
Wildfire of Hysteria
Mira slid through the shadows, each movement calculated to remain unseen. The inn was silent in the pre-dawn light but early risers might already be watching. Unfortunately, she couldn’t wait for a better opportunity.
She had to get the skull back.
Her preparations had been almost complete when the innkeeper’s boy found the decorated skull on the edge of the village. Obviously intrigued, the dratted boy had taken it home to his mother. She’d promptly shown everyone in the village.
Hysteria spread like wildfire.
Mira had kept her head down but she knew fingers would soon begin pointing. It was inevitable. She just had to complete the ritual, then she could leave.
Despite her taut nerves, reclaiming the skull was simple. She breathed a sigh of relief as she turned to leave.
“Ma Mira?” a young voice peeped. “What’re you doin’ here?”
Mira froze, her heart sinking. Then she fled.
As the mob dragged her out of her cottage, she tried to warn them. Their angry shouts drowned her out. As flames licked her ankles she told them about her sacred task. No one listened.
As consciousness fled, she saw the darkness laughing, no barriers to hold it back.
Word Count: 200
To read the other entries click the little blue frog.
Protective arms reach
Offering shelter from storms
Open seas cry home
This post is for the Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge. This week’s theme is Curve.
The pictures were taken in Newlyn, the fishing village in Cornwall that we stayed in during our recent holiday. Newlyn harbour has been in use since at least 1435, when the Bishop of Exeter made mention of the ‘repairing and maintaining of a certain quay or jetty for forty boats’. Nowadays the harbour is said to house the largest fishing fleet in the UK, though not all of these can fit behind the medieval harbour wall.
This post is for the Sometimes Stellar Storyteller’s Six Word Story challenge. This week’s prompt is tease.
“Mum! Charlie keeps on poking me!”
As soon as I saw this week’s prompt I knew I had to write a six word story about siblings teasing each other! Working with kids I tend to see a lot of that. 🙂 I chose the name Charlie because every Charlie I know (and it’s a really popular at the moment) is a really cheeky little monkey.
The picture is of me and one of my brothers. His name’s not Charlie.
This post is for Sonya’s Three Line Tales.
Grandma always said that the thing to aim for was elegance, sweetly understated; that the magic lay in the simplicity. The ingredients might be plain but when blended they created a perfection no one could resist. She always got the feeling that Grandma wasn’t just talking about cakes.