The bike.

Emily took her helmet and silently slid the bifolds back to reveal the garden. Her once warm face received a blast. left with pink cheeks and a pinched nose which she wiggled as she fastened the helmet neath her chin. She closed the doors, pleased to have paid extra for the silent sliders. Emily heard the first birds of the day and spied a squirrel munching below the hazel. She filled her nostrils with Autumn, felt the frost in the air; mingled with wood-smoke in the wind. Emily marched down the path to the back of the cart lodge. A light caught the handlebars, a ribbon of anticipation bubbled in her chest she smiled to herself. Her leg thrown over the saddle and fingerless gloves took the chill from the grips; she was away.

Slowly, she passed the Beech hedge its copper leaves dangled precariously from the boughs. A row of horse-chestnuts were almost naked. The huge trees ran fifty yards down the length of the beech hedging, interspersed with red Hazel. Emily could only smile on such a day as this, she knew there was something magical in the air and had always loved the first ride of the season.

Oblivious to the crunch of leaves quickening behind her, or the raggedy breath wheezing puffs of cloudy air. She meandered, gazing at the sunrise and its colours spread over the fields.

She sensed danger rather than saw him, the taste of fear on her tongue. Emily peddled faster but as speed picked up, her bike was tugged hard. Over the handlebars, she drifted slow motion it seemed. The thud was the last thing she remembered as the world spun blue and green.

With a twist of her head, pain shot up her spine as the darkness enveloped her. She didn’t know what hit her. The lining of her nose stung with the scent of bitumen and burned wood. Prone on a bed of coal she lay, tears ran freely into her hair and her ears filled. One shake of her head cleared her ears but caused spasms of pain to ricochet into her toes. All she could see were sun rays bursting through the grid, way above her head.

The photo/ prompt is Sue Vincents #writephoto to be found here. The gif is taken from a short animated Oscar-winning film called ‘Father and daughter’ to be found on youtube.

My short is open to an ending or maybe it is the beginning of what?

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The Rendezvous.

Join in by February 22nd  #writephoto here Thank you Sue Vincent, your prompts always inspire.

 

 

At sunset, the summer-house looked beautiful.  Scared to be first in case she was stood up, Rebecca held herself tight to the trunk of the aged oak. She watched the darkness and waited while trying to control her breath and her thoughts that made her tremble. Out of the shadow, a figure appeared moving with urgency until it vanished inside.

“Breathe just breathe,” She whispered as she shook her fingers and straightened her back. Heat burned her throat and bile filled her mouth, bent at the waist she spat into the undergrowth. Found a mint in her pocket and placed it on her tongue. Once composed she tugged the hem of her skirt and walked forward.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust but she instinctively knew where her lover was. “You came then, I was scared you wouldn’t,” fingers tangled with hers and felt like sparks shooting up her arm, this couldn’t be wrong it felt so beautiful. She didn’t speak just let things silently take over.

After, when tangled in the blanket on the floor, breasts glistened and chests heaved as they shuddered in unison. Watching the sky alter from gold to deepest mauve Rebecca spoke. “It is so beautiful, everything is perfect, I will never forget this” Tears glistened on her lashes as they squeezed each other’s hands and pledged undying love.

“I know, first times are meant to be perfect and it is. I thought you were struck dumb, that I was destined not to hear your voice tonight.” Rebecca’s laugh tinkled and she covered her face with the blanket wiggling her feet.

As the sky darkened they gathered themselves, collected the evidence, leaving the summer-house as it was found, without signs of their rendezvous. Hand in hand they walked to the clearing one last kiss before they reluctantly parted. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” said Rebecca walking backwards twisting a curl around her finger as she went. “I can’t wait whispered Sarah” both wearing grins big enough to shame a Cheshire cat.

 

 

I hope in this day and age we all understand love and kindness come in many guises. My question today is “Do you remember the first flutter of love and was it in a secret place?” please leave your answer or observations in the comments… I will come back to read them soon.

Seeing The Wood For The Trees.

February 9, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a rainbow in a puddle. Is it a silver lining of sorts or a false reflection? Think about what it might mean or convey. Simple science? Hope? Or the doom of humankind? Create action or character reflection. Go where the prompt leads you.

Respond by February 14, 2017 to be included in the compilation (published February 15). Rules are here. All writers are welcome!   Press to join in🔜here🔙

Sandy, her  boots splashed, hat pulled low, frowning with lips pursed, determinedly marched on. “Keep walking the same path Sand; (she heard in her head)  you’ll fall down the same hole”. “Okay dad enough!” She roared wiping her face “Avoid the wood; you’ll miss the trees”.  ” just leap shall”?  She cried.  Jumping she landed smack in the puddle, hiccoughed as tears cleaned mud from her cheeks.

Robert on seeing her, threw a leg over the stile and ran. “Don’t tell me … there was a rainbow at the bottom.” He smiled, his strong arms gathered her and Sandy saw the rainbow.

Thank you Charlie Mills, Cheesy … maybe but today is Valentines.

Did you see the rainbow? Where was yours? Answers welcomed and responded to with relish.

Merry Merry Christmas.

For my virtual friends all over the world “Merry Christmas” Happy Holiday’s whatever your beliefs be kind to each other. To you all “Peace on Earth”.

I will be away for a while but will See you next year. Xxx.

Our Christmas tree.

https://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=video&cd=2&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjU0p3zlvzQAhVYNVAKHdp9AJMQtwIIIDAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DJKJExBXRorA&usg=AFQjCNGwQn0b_e4u8wmmelaZYT0v55eqnQ&sig2=50zeOoKehYeOiiJSy0nO7Q&bvm=bv.142059868,d.ZWM

Enjoy festive music if you can keep your eyes off Mariah’s chest… ooooherrr missus.

Hunger.

prompt picture credit to Virginia Frances Sterret. Jane Dougherty’s microfiction challenge #27 to join in or read press here link and post your story by next Thursday 22nd December.

 

755px-old_french_fairy_tales_0047

Melinda often escaped to the folly, where she would wear her mothers gown, paint her delicate lips, smear her smooth cheeks with rouge and ink her brows. She would  loose her hair from its restricted braids and play makebelieve. She’d call her ghostly friends from the recess of her mind to pamper and preen; laying out scenarios thought up in a dream. But as daylight twinkled through the stained glass and threw colours in the space she knew to not be caught. Melinda would creep back into her other life before she was missed. One last twirl one last sway around the mosaic floors then as quiet as the running stream she’d lock the folly doors. 

Face scrubbedand her dress folded neatly away, Melinda with hair bound under a turban entered the kitchen as Mandeep. Where he worked tirelessly making concoctions mixing a pinch of this a pop of that. His passion for creating a feast was known far and wide as his three Michelin stars were proof . Mandeep no matter how famous he was known, or how high he climbed in his proffession he still had to hide behind a sad facade. Hoping one day that Melinda would be able to satiate this gnawing hunger to cook in the restaurant kitchens openly. He longed be seen having fun eating sumptuous food, sharing stories and no longer have to live a lie. The irony of his situation was, his religion nor his family would have any problem with his orientation, but to climb the ladder he coveted he had entered a western world of bigotry and intolerance.

A Little Wind Wreaks Havoc.

Thank you Sue Vincent for this weeks picture prompt go 🔜here🔙 to join Thursdays #writephotoprompt smoke.

 

A strange smell hung over the village it had done so for most of the summer; bad eggs, that’s the nearest I could Identify it as. Mornings around ten O’clock it was at its worst, and if the summer breeze wafted your way you knew it. People stopped hanging their linen out and they kept the windows firmly shut. The local shop took a bomb of money selling airfreshners, scented oil bottles the expensive ones with reeds. When they had a huge delivery of oscillating fans, which incidentally sold out in two days; suspicions arose. Fingers were pointed directly at the village postmistress who was the only one not complaining, and the only one rubbing her hands together behind the counter in our village store.

Emergency meetings were held in secret down the allotments, neighbourhood watch was only watching one place. Only Farmer Longstockings was  unbothered, he said “country folk should be used to country smells” refusing to join the village folks scuttle butting and finger wagging. Farmer Longstockings was now suspect no.two.

I loved it when folk came up to bluebell woods to gaze on the blanket of colour that spilt down the bank and mingled with pink orchids. Groups of camera clutching walkers kissed by the sun and happy to be part of a flora and fauna celebration. I made scones and best home made jams, we sold them at the village hall, the monies raised paid for the  party at harvest festival time. Several of us took part bringing sandwiches pasties and bottles of chilled cider. Some of the lads would charge three pounds to take them to the woods, they would give an elaborately expanded story on how they came to be. But this year our month of lucrative money-making seemed to be in jeopardy.

The scout group were making stench masks to sell when the visitors arrive, some bought up the dolly pegs from the shop and became peg wearing investigators with bandannas over their mouths. It wasn’t long before the scoutmaster took badges away for scaring the three pensioners in the Almshouses… No. Three on the suspect list.

One bright morning a gentle breeze hummed across the rickety bridge where I liked to sketch and gaze at the water, but with it came the stench and tails of pure white smoke.I covered my nose with a confiscated peg put on my sunglasses and followed the tails that licked the blue sky.  Beyond the bluebell woods past the copse of silver birch was a cave it was once a mine; it was said that it never produced much, a few fossils and semi-precious stones. There were tales of magic and folklore surrounding the cave, but mostly it was on private farm land (suspect no.two)  and unsafe. None the less it was time this was sorted and I believed it would be down to me to do so. Just as I thought in the distance I could see it curling as if from a chimney out of the mouth of the cave. My childhood memories of the tales came rushing back I hadn’t believed them at six so why did they make me tremble at a fully grown seventeen. A resting place for the last dragon my Father had told me, and of secret trysts and growls that came from below. Then there was the eerie light and fog that sometimes was seen from across the miles. What if…

Farmer Longstockings had spotted me, I watched him turn the rusted tractor in my direction, now I was… concerned, but as I was almost an adult I straightened my back and ploughed on.  Philip had spotted the smoke trail and guessed that maybe his ole snout was so used to stink that he could no longer smell, but his eyes made him suspicious. We arrived at the same time “Farmer Longstockings” I nodded my head and planted my feet with a stomp. “Philip! yer too long in the leg to not use my given name”.  He pushed his hat to the back of his head, wiped his eyes with a bit of scrim, they  were streaming as he gazed up at the gentle wisps emanating from ten feet above us.

“This is no task for a young lady, you go see the missus an tell her to send Toby with the big chains”.  Off I went pleased to get away from the vomit-inducing stench. Toby was the Longstockings son that hadn’t seen me since I was a child. He must be home for the summer, he’d been away at horticulture college for two years and the thought of actually seeing him made my heart beat most peculiarly.

Ann wasn’t as pleased to have me disturbing her chores and didn’t relish me talking to her son; that much was apparent. Three hours passed before they returned, wet, dirty and very smelly. They had capped the opening to stop the escape of sulphuric smoke that came from way beneath the earth. Philip phoned a geologist who would work with him and supervise the fitting of a permanent plug. Together they’d make  safe the cave  over the next few weeks. Before I left we had agreed that less said soonest mended would be the order of the day.

Bluebell month was glorious, and a new romance blossomed between Toby and me. That Summer I filled my bottom drawer in preparation… items purchased with monies earned from my book. The Tale of The Last Dragon. The story came about one summer’s day when a little wind wreaked Havoc.

 

The Last Dance Of Purple.

cracked-ice

Thank you Sue Vincent for the picture prompt🔜 press 🔙here to join in with #write photo.

Not knowing where she was, Mable shook free her hair and tried to clear her head. On the horizon colours reflected like a kaleidoscope bouncing light from the setting sun to the frozen brook. She blinked and flinched as memories rushed in. The cold hard floor, the biting rope, the rumble of an empty stomach and the taste of metal on her tongue. Her only hope was to get as far away as possible before the sun disappeared and her view was lost. The terrible reality of her ordeal thrust home but refusing to acknowledge it she pushed on.

Mabel stumbled on towards the light; her head flicking back constantly to see if she was followed. A loss of concentration and she tripped on a root; her footing was lost. One wet stocking told her she was in serious trouble. Plunging ungracefully through the ice, no matter how much thrashing and praying Mabel had done; it was in vain. As if in slow motion she was sucked deeper and further from the bank. The cold was all encompassing her body felt heavy and numb. A muffled scream was heard by a startled Muntjac who answered the cry with a bark.

 

Through her frost tipped lashes and the opaque ice… she watched the last dance of purple light fade, the silent sunset gone, with the harrowing blink of an eye.

 

Do pay me by leaving a comment, my spirits will lift and I will be encouraged inspired to write more… besides I love to tell you a story and leave you guessing. *whispers* what was she running from?

 

 

#writephoto The Summer Of Mystery.

Use the photo to form a story, poem or post by noon on Wdenesday 30th November click HERE to read other wonderful responses or to join in the fun.

Wendy took hold of her friends shoulders and shook her. “Suzy stop trying to peek, you aren’t being fair,” Wendy was pouting and frowning. “You promised me and if…  if you want to be my best friend,” Wendy had fat tears hanging from her lashes, threatening to fall.They worked their way deeper into the tree line, Suzy wobbled and tripped her way over the uneven ground. 

Wendy pulling her friends hands led her in wide circles over fallen logs and tinkling streams. “Suzy constantly moaned and flinched “Are we there yet” she called.” But on they trod, Wendy stopped her and let her smell some bluebells and listen to the woodland creatures rustling and birds in full song. “Listen… can you hear the magic? Do you feel the special? Oh Suzy we are almost there it smells like candy floss doesn’t it? We have to do the thing now… the secret words then it will happen.”


Wendy untied the scarf from her friends eyes. “Don’t  look! keep the eyes closed or or… it won’t work. Abracadabra round and round let the magic be found!  Wave Wendy, both hands hard..  go in circles keep your eyes shut”. Finally Wendy whispered “Open your eyes”. Rubbing her face and looking through squinting eyes she blinked rapidly. A huge grin spreads across her face gripping Wendy’s forearms both girls squealed and tapped their feet like flamenco dancers. 

Suzy looked her friend close into her face as Wendy whispered to her “I told you it is magic, the secret fairy den. We are the only special ones who know. The two little girls armed with their secret prepared for a magical summer.

Photographer E. Best  permission needed to use this image.

Did you have a secret place a summer of ,magic. Please let me know your story in the comments… I look forward to reading them all, i will reply to them all. 😇

A Place that stirred my Very soul.

The Lotus temple is my favorite building, the one above all others that has come to be the beginning of a new me; a second chance.
Whilst working in India I had the chance to visit this amazing marble clad structure. My visit was the most ethereal moving experience I have encountered.
I was doing a whistle stop, sightseeing, must do on your last day bus tour – not the way I like to do things, but people had presented me with the ticket, and they were so proud of their country and my gift there could only be  graciousness with my acceptance.
I may at another time elaborate on this extrordinary day, but for the moment I will introduce the building in all its spiritual beauty.

image

This picture  for which i am very greatful is from pixaby link below.
https://pixabay.com/en/photos/

Now for Facts.

Lotus temple is open to people from all religions. It is one of the houses of Bahai Worship.

2. Bahai law emphasizes the universality of all religions. It states that House of Worship is a gathering place for people of all religions.

3. The law further states that only the holy scriptures of Bahai faith and other religions can be read or chanted inside in any language.

4. The readings and prayers can be set to music by choirs as per the law specified by Bahai religion.

5. No musical instruments can be played inside the house of God according to the followers of Bahai religion.

6. Furthermore, no sermons can be delivered. Hence, there is no place for practice of ritualistic ceremonies within this religious community.

7. Like other Bahai Houses of Worship, the Lotus Temple shares certain architectural elements. Some of these are specified in the Bahai scripture.

8. Abhui-Baha is the son of the founder of this religion. He had stipulated that the essential architectural character of a House of Worship should have a nine-sided shape.

9. All the Houses of Worship built by the Bahai community have dome in the central structure. However, the Lotus Temple does not have this characteristic architectural element.

10. There is no place for pictures, photos, statues or images in Bahai religion.

Source: http://www.buzzoop.com/travel/10…

“My Story Can Now Begin.”

The bus pulled up, it was  the middle of monsoon season and every surface glistened  from the rains of the morning. There were racks to leave your shoes and lockers to put your belongings,camera’s, phones, water, food.
I had a purse on a long leather strap across my body under my dupatta,  which is a shawl to cover my shoulders or head; necessary in some of the places I had to visit that day. My purse carried my medication some money and my Id, like the other visitors I had, no shoes,no bags, no camera, just space and myself.

Some of the people were guided outside around the perimeter, and a few inside, so that the space was uncompramised. At first the vastness is overwhelming the silence was unexplainable. I lay as others did on a marble pew or structure, where you looked into the centre of the lotus flower high above me. My breath and occasional rustling as people settled were the only sounds. I lay for maybe fifteen minutes time dissipated, it was as if I was waiting for something; then it came.

A small bird fluttered around the beams and rested as high as he could get, he threw back his head and sang; the notes reverberated off every surface magnifying each note. I realised I’d been holding my breath, as i gasped he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared. My moment will stay forever 2009 in many ways marked a turning point a new life for me, with this experience at the top.
I hope you liked my memory and would love to know if a place holds something special for you all comments are welcomed and answered promptly.
This post was provoked out of me by Niki touch this to see her post please like or comment

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