It Was An Express Delivery.

One, two, three Argggh! > Pant pant pant whhphoooo <. The Midwife passed a glass of ice and a cloth to cool her fevered brow. Furrows crease his handsome face. His eyes bright with disbelief, from glass to cloth he looks and snaps shut his gaping maw.

Nonchalantly he raises his body from the chair, hands his wife the cloth stoops to kiss 💋 the air. The pain swung in she pushes hard and fierce, Scowling Mama puffs and blows; a roar disturbs his peace. Midwife now between her legs sits on her swivel stool, tells her it is far to late to use the birthing pool.

Lunch consumed, ear buds removed, he finishes a last slurp of wine. Strolls across to hold her hand and whisper in her ear. “I forgot desert … have I time? She glares and said “shall I make it clear!” A push, a scream, the cord is cut, an express delivery is done. Together they smile, and greet a bouncing baby son.

July 17th / 31st. use the prompt above to make, craft, write, paint or cook something inspired by the picture. Thank you for prompt #1 Esme Slabs of #SIPB Facebook group.

Presshere to read and join in.

A tongue in cheek delivery, do you know of one to tell? Answers in the comments please … I can’t wait to read.

The Journey to Enlightenment #BlogBattle

The Master, Sagar, sat atop of the tallest mountain to watch. He gazed upon the hoards of people risking everything to stand at his feet to feel his presence. Soon he would see those that were not true believers, just adventurers or voyeurs wasting his time. Gaps began to widen between groups, some turned back, with no stamina for this pilgrimage. Throwing his head up, he sucked in hard and began to blow. His breath of frigid glacial winds swirled the snow and rocked the mountain. He summoned Thundersnow to test those on the treacherous slopes. Only the strong-willed, committed and brave would be able to traverse the terrain and reach their goal. He was not about to make their task easy.

Only four People had stayed on the trail. There were two bearded men; of undistinguishable age who arrived first. Behind them were Luna and Aaron. Aaron had promised to help her, guide her to the top. He was relieved they were almost there. It took Persistence, endurance, willpower and a lot of strength to get her to this point. Luna had trusted Aaron and had followed his training to the letter, knowing how brutal the trek would be. The two men ignored Aaron’s advice and pitched their tent with the wind behind it. Luna worked through her fatigue, stamping a flat surface into the snow while Aaron cut bricks to build a snow wall around the tent.

Luna, exhausted and weak she shivered. Her teeth rattled as a solitary tear plopped into her hand a second froze where it dangled like a precious stone to her lashes. She pushed her face into her palms and silently sobbed. Aaron worried for Luna. He wrapped his hands around a flask of freshly warmed and sweetened Yak’s milk. “Here, drink this. It will do wonders for you. Sort your socks and gloves out. We can then sleep.” She flinched at his voice, having not heard much for the last three day’s other than the roar of the weather. Luna shuffled a few inches and pointed to space beside her “Thanks, sit here,” she nodded, her eyelids drooped as she lifted the cup to her lips and drank hungrily. Her eyes twinkled when she passed it back. “You too, it was brutal today. Are we short of rations?” Aaron gulped back his half, wiped his hand across his mouth and said. “We could be here for some time, by the sound of it out there. Let’s say if we’re careful we’ll manage, but yes rations are tight.”

The pair snuggled together, exchanging body heat, giving each other comfort. That night the storm grew to whip at the tent’s structure, screaming like a thousand warriors. Noise filled every space in the couple’s world. The whiteout somehow was somehow darker, more sinister than the black of night. The other tent, though only feet from theirs, was obscured. The storm raged on for two more days and nights. Twice Aaron tried to reach the other men, but it was too dangerous visibility was nil. Only his childhood skill for climbing like a mountain goat stopped him from being cast from the face of the mountain.

In the days that followed, Luna read aloud from ‘The Book Of Awe.’ She had found the book wrapped in a tan and white fleece inside a red Mahogany box, hidden beneath her mother’s bed. It was a Tome, full of Peruvian Myths and legends. There were photographs of her and Luna threaded between the pages. A tail feather of the Tunki bird she had pressed like a wildflower, the bird it was said to bring luck and prosperity. A talon from the Andanean Condor had been polished and hung from a leather thong. She found a lock of her mother’s hair haphazardly gathered in a strand of Alpaca wool. For weeks after her death, she had sat with her knees under her chin, reading. Sometimes Luna cried and wondered about this part of her. The Tome is where she read of The mountain and Khuno. He is said to be a high altitude storm God. She read to Aaron. “it says those who successfully reach the top to camp at his feet will get their wishes. People wrote of enlightenment and of having a new ethereal beauty and inner peace.

In In preparation for her task, Luna folded many paper birds. Each had a wish or a question that she inscribed in her best handwriting as the book requested. She will release the birds on the breath of Khuno, where they would be taken by the wind out to the universe. Luna stroked the picture of her mother, gently tied the lock of hair to the Tunki feather and fastened them to the paper birds. Aaron placed the thong inside her coat, pushed her offerings into a shoulder bag and held her close for the last time. ” I will walk you as near as I can. I will wait for you.” The wind had dropped, the fresh snow began to crunch beneath them as they made the final steps to the plateau.

If you were to be allowed to find the Book of Awe, You would read a tale of young lovers who beat all the odds to reach the feet of such a God. They climbed the mountain, overcame adversity, faced ferocious storms and the wrath of Khuno. Luna, a sun goddess and Aaron, whose Andanean name means mountain of strength, walk the realms of greatness with ancient Inca Gods together for eternity.

What myth or legend or old wife’s tale do you believe? answers please in the comments I can’t wait to read them.

A Morning With Flo.

This is a Monologue written by me for the Theatre during lockdown. This is read by an actor.

Synopsis, a wanna be model called Flo goes into a new upmarket coffee bar alone.

On loan From pixels

PRESS To Listen

Borrowed from pixels

An otherwise ordinary day at the library.

Ilminster Library.

In a small market town in Somerset where most buildings are made from Jurassic Hamstone. The public library being one such building sits solid in the ground. Drawn as I was to it, not just because I am to anywhere that books live, the building looked as old as a gnarly tree (Ancient buildings often do) it caught my attention. I was welcomed by a sign outside saying ‘libraries love readers, step inside and read.’ So I did.

This sign I took literally, so with a huge smile, for such a miserable day … I marched right in. Reading stories and making them up has always been my thing. I have been spilling tales from my mouth uncontrollably since I could speak . I have been known (since this day) to fold myself into the children’s corner like a master of yoga and read aloud. Like a character from a Grimm’s fairy-tale or a strong magnet, people would be drawn to me … mostly small ones.

This specific day I did just that. Once I crossed my legs, I pushed my sit bones in to a cushion and began. Parents and children sat and stood around me, eyes wide, mouths open, as they sat in silence. This silence made the voices I gave the characters more pronounced and my face more animated as I read. I elaborated, asked for their input, both big and little people joined in, calling out questions and might have beens. I warmed to the twinkles in their eyes and dimpled smiles, they were the best moments. At the end I was clapped, which pinked my cheeks. I recall a moment of surprise washed over me; chased by a hot shade of embarrassment.

At that very moment a bespectacled gentleman of the Library; the custodian I believe he called himself, shushed me forcibly. So forcibly in fact I would swear his teeth rattled as If they would be blown clean from his mouth. A kind librarian stopped to ask If I would like a regular spot. We all I suspect had a lovely interlude, to an otherwise ordinary day.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

What tale do you find your mind wanders to if a child asks you to tell them a story? Do you fabricate one, or prefer to read from a book? Do let me know in the comments.

This is a photo of the first present my husband gave me after our wedding. We had been married about eight weeks when he came back from the shops with the groceries a newspaper and a bottle of Fizz.

After he unpacked everything onto the work top he plunged his hand into his trouser pocket and handed me this. Yes a potato, a heart shaped potato and said. “I couldn’t leave it in the greengrocers  once I found it. it just reminded me of you.” We laughed at his words and joked that I looked like a potato, but honestly it was bloody romantic the most romantic my husband could get.

He is not a man of big romantic presentations, he could not gush if he tried. The husband, as I refer to him on my Blog is spontaneous, some might say impulsive, I say he is just simply kind. He said, he did not think a potato could label him romantic. That he would never be accused of being soppy or a sap but this gift though long since gone rotten and recycled to a better place in the compost, will always be first in my memory for the gift that needed no reason. The gift that meant the whole world, it didn’t cost him a penny but took guts to ask for it, and courage to give it to me.

My man has few words of the romantic kind, neither a poem, sonnet or rhyme, would ever pause on his tongue. No love letters will be received but my heart shaped potato is the most significant measure of his love for me.

What a pair.

Have you ever had an extraordinarily odd but perfect gift? Leave your answer in the comments I am dying to see what it is.

The most romantic gestures arrive from the simplest of moments.

Photo by Matteus Silva de Oliveira on Pexels.com

Play this while you read https://youtu.be/g6A0BR5F2zk Click on then return to read.

He kissed me tenderly but clung on for a second too long. His eyes looked with suspicion, as a frown formed between his brows. I had to be firm in my resolve, and not back down. Blinking hard I reached out cold fingers and let them graze his cheek, my lips formed a believable smile as fleetingly his bottom lip quivered. With a straight back and a composed air I waved goodbye and watched him enter the beautiful modern building. Jack’s first day at nursery was the hardest. He beamed like a lighthouse when I arrived to collect him.

Photo by Wendy Wei on Pexels.com

That was my response to Charli’s prompt.

April 29, 2021, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story using the phrase, “hit the road, Jack.” You can interpret the phrase any way you like — road trip, goodbye, or story. Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by May 4, 2021. Use the comment section below to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.

go here to join in. https://carrotranch.com/2021/04/30/april-29-flash-fiction.com/

Tell me, did you play the song? Does my post remind you of another first day? do chat leave me a comment I love to connect.

Play this it is the best way to know how she felt when he was gone.

Hit The Road Jack.

Today I pick up a prompt from Charli at the Carrot ranch, Thank you Charli.

April 22, 2021, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about earthing. Put a character’s hands, feet or body and soul into the earth. Who needs recharging? What happens between the interaction? Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by April 27, 2021. Use the comment section below to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines. Press here to join in or read. Press here

Simple pleasures.

It’s time, to stop and stare as yellow paints the fields. Nature’s beauty shines. Drink in the hypnotic sway let it warm your soul. Remember that elegance has a sharp edge, for all its grace and beauty it is not to be walked among.

Rape is full of allergens, it will ulcerate skin, if you forget the country code … and walk through the farmers crops. like a fisherman’s lure, a fly dangled before you dancing on ripples. You can be grounded by its colour, mezmerized by the sway, let the earth paint your soul. Breathe and enjoy, the simple pleasures.

They say not to use cliche`s but ‘all that glitters isn’t gold,’ would have fit this post nicely, or ‘beauty is skin deep.’ But we writery people know not to commit such sins 🤣 Did you celebrate earth day? Dig your toes in the ground? Let me know in the comments what your thoughts are.

Making a connection with this beautiful earth.

For-get-me-not

The sun tricks the flowers to bloom with its false brightness, low shine that hits the glass, lights up the smears and makes dust motes dance, as winter sneaks back in.

Frozen!

Spring is sprung …Or Is It