Category Archives: Seasons

Scene from my window #tanka

On the moorsAshen faced, the skies

discharge leaden, liquid cargo,

to the playful breeze,

now their voyage is complete,

gifting life to Mother Earth.

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MLMM’s Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, February 27 2019 Morning Glory

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Veined, mauve trumpets sound

a clarion call to bees.

Life in harmony.

 

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Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, February 13th 2019, cherry blossom

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Brief dalliance with

pastel-shaded gossamer.

Till spurned by the breeze.

 

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#Sixwordstory SIX WORD STORY: MISSING #Micro

While missing you I shot myself

 

 

 

 

 

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Tale Weaver #209 – Rebuild – 7th February

Peacock butterflyI had one impulse, it consumed my desire. I was dangling on a gossamer thread that was tethered high above my head. I stared up, fixing my eyes on the branch, not daring to look down. Out of the corner of my eye I could see all of my siblings starting to move upwards. A relentless tide of greenish-yellow bodies, each hoping to be the first to reach the succulent leaves that had overnight covered the branches of  the birch tree, our ultimate goal. We all moved with one intent, to eat the sweet-tasting, luxuriant, green parcels of protein. Within minutes I had reached the smooth bark and I knew I would have to start eating the leaves. I would eat until my body felt like bursting at the seams. It was time to spread out along the branches as they became thinner, gradually dwindling to bushy growth.

I looked around and realised trouble was brewing. Small yellow birds had noticed that there was now a bounty of food and they were able with very little effort to pick up beak-fulls of juicy bodies that they could carry back to their nests. Each nest full of ravenous mouths chattering and clamouring to be fed.  We would be an easy meal for the little chicks to digest and grow. I slunk along the twig trying to keep by body as low as possible, hoping not to be noticed before I reached the shelter of the leaf clumps. Then I could satisfy my hunger.

I started on the leaves nibbling away  at the juicy green leaf-edges. Drawing myself up and then stretching out to take the next mouthful. Delicious! After a few hours, during which I managed to consume at least forty times my own weight of food I knew it was time to sleep. I hooked my claws into the bottom of an uneaten leaf and rapidly fell asleep. For the next few days I woke early and spent all of the daylight hours eating, hiding from the birds and retiring to sleep as it started to darken.

On the fourth morning I awoke after a restless night and it felt as though someone had wrapped me in a thick cloak. I twisted , turned and kicked until I managed to break free. I poked my head out of a strange-smelling, brown tube.  I was exhausted so I just sat and rested It was then that I noticed my body had changed. My head was bigger, my eyes were brighter. My heartbeat was stronger and there were two growths on my shoulders. They got bigger and bigger . Wings! Somehow during the night I had managed to rebuild my body and I could fly for I was now a butterfly. Now there was no time to eat but another urge surged through my beautiful body.

 

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Yet one more #Thursday photo prompt: Snowfall #writephoto from Sue Vincent

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He started to remove the bindings from his feet. He wondered where he would be able to find more strips of cloth such as these. He no longer had access to the old linen store. It had been closed a few months ago. The guards had been reprimanded for losing some of the stock. Had they taken the required bribes and passed them up the chain of command all might have been well.  Now some over-zealous pen-pusher had disrupted the system and everyone would suffer.

From now on the guards would also be spending extended holidays in the frozen beauty of the Siberian tundra. Enjoying shared holiday cabins in the resort known as the Gulag. He felt no sympathy for them. No-one could empathise with those who had once had the power of life and death over such as he. In fact the thought made him smile in satisfaction. Though that did not offer physical warmth, only a warm mental glow.

Warmth had been in short supply for the past few days as Autumn was coming to an end. Today had been the first taste of the long Winter to come. Noticeable changes, a glistening sheet of ice inside the windows in the morning. A cool mist that seeped through the holes in the greatcoat. The leaden, overcast skies, clouds building and lingering, slowly but perceptibly, and  now the first snowfall.

Instead of fur-lined boots, prison issue hobnails stuffed with linen strips were now the latest fashion, although not by choice, beloved by all, guaranteed to last two Winters with careful usage. Andrei would have no need to replace them. He would be due for release in his second year. It remained a goal to be cherished. Nobody liked to think that most sentences were invariably extended. Two years often becoming three, that was reasonable, seldom more than four.

He finished unwrapping his feet. He stopped and looked about him, reflecting on the silence. Like the forest now that the snow had arrived. Fifty people, yet no conversation; like himself, each lost in their own thoughts and too tired to waste time in conversation with neighbours. Friendships were not made, too easily broken in their hand to mouth existence.

The white skin on his feet, calloused and flaking was already beginning to turn red in the cold air. He rubbed at them furiously with his woollen-gloved hands. He bent his head to examine them more closely, a cloud of steam spreading over each foot with every breath. No signs of frostbite yet. He smiled, surprised at how the smallest thing was able to give him pleasure. He stretched his toes, massaging some heat back into them. He thought he would leave washing them for this one day as there was no guarantee the water would not be freezing cold from the tap. Slowly, savouring the feel of the soft linen he started to rebind each ankle and sole. If the bindings stayed in place his boots would keep the heat in until it was time to go out to the yard for the last roll-call before lights out at ten. He leaned back on his wooden palette and closed his eyes. There were no holes in his mittens or breeches that needed mending, that left two hours respite from the toil of the day. A small luxury to be enjoyed in the best possible way he could think of.

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Filed under Alternative history, As you read it, Flash fiction, Old knowledge, Seasons, Self compositions

Colleen’s 2019 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 120, “Cold & Storm,” #SynonymsOnly

Over silent hills

once green, now crystal shrouded

spires, stand silently,

through these frozen pyramids

a playful tempest shrieking

 

 

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MLMM’s #Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, January 16th 2019, first day of spring

Entombed in cold earth

dormant daggers are unsheathed

then thrust to the sun.

 

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Sue Vincent’s #Thursday photo prompt: Calm #writephoto

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The stream looks calm, no ripple disturbs the surface. As if viewed in a mirror, images of the banks and wide sky form exact portraits of the landscape without the need of artist’s brush or photographer’s lens. The beauty of the scene is of no concern to you though.

It is Autumn and the waters of the brook are swollen after the first seasonal rains. Intuition tells you that changes will be taking place within the recent torrent. Now-placid and canal-like. This could be what you have been waiting for. From your pocket you take a jam-jar, emptied of it’s sticky contents, label removed and ready for use.

Three feet below the water’s surface the annual miracle has started. If, like some Old Testament miracle, the waters were to part, you would be able to witness an amazing spectacle.

Not trusting to any help from Moses your jam-jar will be required. Cautiously approaching the water’s edge you lie face down and place the jar on the surface. All the action is now laid bare to your eyes.

Before your eyes activity hidden from view is revealed. You are able to glimpse the private love act of salmo salar, the Atlantic salmon.

After years spent cruising the Atlantic ocean male fish known as jacks have answered an uncontrollable urge to return to their birthplace. The increasing depth of water due to  rain has enabled them to make their way up small rivulets. On their way the urge is so strong that they have no time to eat. Sea-lice has caused their scales to turn from fresh silver to a chalky white as they shrink and fall to the riverbed. Acquiring a deep blushing red the jaws resemble elongated hooks making the act of eating impossible anyway.

Females have laid millions of eggs in scrapes on the gravel beds and as the males release their milt it forms opaque clouds before settling on the eggs ready to  fertilise and start the new life necessary for the success of the species.

All this is revealed as you lean over the water’s edge with the jar resting  on the surface.

You take the jar and leave the fish to their devices’ knowing that within a few days with little rain the waters will return to their shallow state. Returning to the brook you will see many salmon stranded and dying, their work done.  Their bodies forming a bonanza feast for the local wildlife.

Meanwhile within the stream the fry will hatch and  soon be swimming, ready to face the trials of life and begin the cycle once more

 

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#Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, November 7th 2018 the voice of the wind

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The blushing leaves dance

with soft chattering whispers

coy before the breeze

 

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