WPC: Autumn Flame

Autumn Candle

the flame sways

in meditative radiance

*

remembering days filled with laughter amidst

autumnal golds and browns

*

breathing air thick with scents of

damp earth and ripe berries and rotting plants

and sugarbeet

*

a small hand held

within age-gnarled fingers

frog wellies stomping through

fallen leaves

*

 days now circled beneath the wheel

gone but not forgotten

*

as the flame sways

Autumn candle

This post is for the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge. This week’s theme is Rounded.

I’ve actually had these pictures on my computer for a while now. I was just wondering what to do with them when I spotted this week’s WPC. I thought they’d fit the theme perfectly.

Candle in Autumn Bowl

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FFfAW: The Touch of his Hand

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The Touch of his Hand

“Are you coming, my dear?”

Millie looked up at the sound of his voice. Tommy stood in the doorway, his hand outstretched, waiting for hers to join it.

She still remembered the first time their hands had touched, all those years ago. She’d shyly slid her fingers into his as they’d walked into the picture house – barely believing the handsome boy had chosen her. He’d squeezed her hand and given a flirtatious wink, setting her heart aflutter. That had been their first date. Many more had soon followed.

The touch of his hand had swiftly become the most important thing in her life: his caress set her senses alight; his support carried her through the hardest days. When his long fingers had slid the ring, the symbol of their devotion, onto her own, she’d known she was complete.

His death had left her adrift.

She’d simply marked time the since his passing, knowing she’d see him again soon.

“Of course,” she said, rising to her feet. Without any hesitation, she slid her fingers into his.

Word count: 175

To read the other entries, or to submit your own, click the little blue frog.

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This post is for Priceless Joy’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge. This week’s prompt was provided by Artycaptures.

In remembrance of my grandparents, Millie and Tommy – gone but never forgotten.

Echoes of Long Ago Games

Tree House Behind Rhododendron 2

listen

can you hear them?

echoing

fleeting peals of laughter

the joyful reflections of childhood games

of long forgotten adventures

held in the space’s fabric

memories existing in gossamer insubstantialility

absorbed by the earth

food for the

soul

Under the Tree House

The garden of our new house has a couple of features that immediately sold the place to me. There is both a tree-house and a summerhouse. And there are numerous signs that they were both favourite sites for children’s games in the past – including wax crayon scribbles and abandoned toys.

Seal.jpg

As the youngest person now living in the house is my seventeen-year-old nephew, the garden no longer echoes with the sounds of children’s laughter. But the tree house and summer house both remain great places to photograph.

And to dream…

Pod

The summerhouse, now generally known as Pod, has become my place for writing. I can often be found sitting down at the bottom of the garden, with a cup of tea, a notepad, and a far away look.

Pod Door

Update: Since I started writing this post earlier today, we’ve had visitors – one of whom was a five-year-old boy. The garden seemed to welcome the sound of childish laughter, again. He rescued the seal (who is now called Super Seal) from the cargo netting, and before he left he insisted that I put him safely inside the tree-house for the night so he could keep warm.

FFfAW: Time to Leave

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Photo prompt – The Storyteller’s Abode

Time to Leave

The boats were full, despite the lateness of the day.

Ingrid paused, her foot poised on the gangplank as she looked back at the town. Her throat tightened as tears threatened to fall. How could she leave? The place was central to all of her memories: she’d married Jimmy in the church on the market place; borne her children in the local hospital. She’d walked those streets with steps both weighted with sorrow and made light with joy. Even the thought of leaving chilled her.

“I’m afraid it’s time, dearest,” Jimmy said.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have any choice. The town that had been so bright with life would soon be darkened by death. These would be the final boats to leave. On board, men and women clung to each other, their fear and sorrow almost palpable. Despite the exodus having begun days earlier, many had hoped the situation would change. Now, with ash clouds obscuring the sun, all hope was gone.

Ingrid gripped her husband’s hand and stepped on board.

Word Count: 175

If you’d like to read the other entries, click the little blue frog.

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This post is for Priceless Joy’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge. This week’s prompt was provided by me. The picture was taken in York a couple of years ago, when we visited for the Christmas market. It was an incredibly cold day, and we were amazed to see the boat trips still going on – though at least no one was sitting on the open-air top level.

As always seems to be the case when it’s my own prompt, I found it really hard to write a story this week! Luckily, I did manage to come up with something in the end. This was inspired by a programme about Pompeii I was watching.

I hope you like it.

FFfAW: Unexpected Consequences

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Photo Prompt – Grant-Sud / Flooded Out With Books

Unexpected Consequences

Adrugian gazed wearily over the arid landscape, the insistent beat of the sun sapping energy he could ill afford to lose. He knew the villagers below didn’t understand why he traipsed so often to the heights. He’d seen the looks they exchanged. He’d heard their snide comments. Unfortunately, the truth was something they could never comprehend.

He sighed, tossing a pebble over the edge and listening for its faint spolsh into the distant trickle of water. Sometimes it seemed only yesterday he’d learned to skim stones, standing at that very spot. Back when the river had filled the canyon to brimming. Back when the rains still fell.

They’d been so young, then. So naive. All they’d wanted was to halt the devastation of the spring floods. They hadn’t realised the effect their rituals would have.

Now, only he remained…

Adrugian gasped as sudden pain tore through his chest. He slumped backwards, shadows darkening his gaze. He knew his time had come, but a smile formed as he took in his final sight.

Clouds gathered above.

Word Count: 175


This post is for Priceless Joy’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge. This week’s prompt was provided by Grant from Flooded out with Books.

To read the other entries click the little blue frog.

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I’d like to both thank and apologise to everyone who has visited my blog recently and left either likes or comments. Whilst I’ve been trying to put together posts, I unfortunately haven’t found the time to respond to comments or to visit anyone’s blogs. Sorry! Hopefully, now the kids are all back at school, work will quieten down somewhat and I’ll finally manage to catch up. I have to admit that all ll I’ve wanted to do with my free time over the Christmas holiday is curl up with a book!

Just to warn everyone, though, I am intending to get stuck into editing the novel I wrote during NaNoWriMo during January, so my blogging might not be as frequent as it has been in the past.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season, whatever festival you were celebrating.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

As it’s nearly midnight here, I’m afraid seeing what everyone else has written will have to wait until tomorrow morning…

Night night. 🙂

FFfAW: Preservation

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Preservation

Loreli scratched at her temples where the threads made contact. After nearly twenty years of treatment she should be used to the sensation by now, but they still made her skin crawl.

After all, while she knew she’d visited the clinic for years, it wasn’t as if she could really remember it…

“How much longer?” she murmured. The doctor would hear, no matter how softly she spoke. Each sound within the room was caught by the sensors, just as every pulse of energy along her synapses was caught by the threads, copying her memories into crystal storage.

“Not long. You’ve been active this week, I see.”

She had. Her sons had visited, their young children in tow. Loreli smiled at the thoughts and feelings dancing through her mind as she lay back.

The session could continue as long as necessary.

The details of her own boys’ early years had been lost to the initial ravages of her illness. Through the crystal and its itchy threads, at least her memories of her grandchildren’s childhood could be saved.

Word Count: 175

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This post is for Priceless Joy’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge. This week’s prompt was provided by Jade M. Wong.