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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Filed under As you read it, Flash fiction, nature inspired, Seasons, Self compositions, Whimsical

A Tan Renga for MLMM’s #Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, February 6th 2019, sundown

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silence found
the colorful sky at sunset –
cicadas sing

the golden-mantled shingle,

will soon be bathed in blushes.

 

 

 

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Written for Ronovan writes #haiku #239 #weeklychallenge

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Glass dipped in sugar

a touch of bitter spirit

just sip and enjoy

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Denizens of the shore #tanka

Air smelling of stars

a breeze playfully whispers

to beckoning crabs,

scuttling over crystal sands

to drink from a cyan sea

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Thursday photo prompt: Fragrant #writephoto

rose-garden

“Well, Nicholas, what do you think of my garden then, is it not a place of much beauty and serenity?”

“I agree my Lord, it is a delight to all the senses but I feel it may be lacking in one small degree.”

“Really, ” the old gentleman stopped and turning to his young companion, with a smile asked, “and how do you think it may be improved, I have had the advice of the best gardeners this county could provide.”

”Well if I might presume Sir, there are a few plants I could suggest that would be of great financial value and also benefit the populace.”

”In that case young Culpeper, might I propose you prepare a list of such and we shall endeavour to find a place for them.”

The rest as they say is history, as this is a true record of a conversation which lead to the compilation of the most famous herbal encyclopaedia ever written.

 

 

 

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MLMM’s Photo Challenge #249

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We dismounted. Staring in awe at the scene before us we knelt down and gave thanks to the Lord. Our quest had not been in vain. Our beloved Emperor Hadrian would reward us well for had we not found the place they must surely have called Golgotha.

We entered and searched diligently but there was nothing to suggest that the sect known as Christians had interfered with it in any way. It was empty, the mud floor overgrown with brush. It had probably been ransacked many decades previously but we could not afford to take any chances.

We would find lodgings in the village and leave a sentry here while we sent dispatches to Rome. Nothing was to be disturbed on pain of death. All we could do now was wait until we learnt our beloved Emperor’s wishes for this place that seemed to hold so much significance for the followers of this so-called Messiah.

 

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Filed under Alternative history, As you read it, Christian, Flash fiction, Self compositions, Whimsical

Colleen Cheeseboro 2019 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 121, “Slow & Work,” #SynonymsOnly -The ploughman

Following the ox

in a cumbersome progress

over rough pastures,

he wears, but we share, the yoke

as from dawn to dusk we toil

 

 

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Filed under As you read it, History, Old knowledge, Self compositions, Tanka

Crimson’s Creative Challenge #12

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To whom then will ye (liken) me, or shall I be equal? saith the Holy One.

Isaiah 40.25 King James Bible

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RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #238 Magic&Man

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You can make magic

let no man say otherwise

believe in yourself

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#Sunday Photo Fiction – January 27, 2019, The artist #flash fiction

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photo courtesy of Jay Pixley.

Marcel looked up from his easel. The pale morning light was just right. The trees’ diffused shadows in their ivy cloaks added just the touch required. Couples were strolling along, the women in gaily coloured gowns. Parasols twirling above their young heads. Young gentlemen in dark suits, others in candy-striped blazers, it seemed each was carrying a cane. Governesses walked in pairs, their black ankle-length dresses and bonnets like uniforms matching the prams  they proudly pushed ahead, heedless of approaching pedestrians. Marcel noted the ladies’  hats, mainly of straw, some plain, some in pastel shades or striped in bright colours. All the gentlemen wearing boaters, deftly doffed as each young lady passed thereby causing a reddening of the cheek and a shy dropping of the eyes. When they passed arm in arm in pairs it was often accompanied by the sound of laughter.

Marcel reached down to his left and picking up a brush placed it between his teeth. He took up his palette and gazed once more down the deserted avenue of trees. His vision set in his mind he was certain he could now people his canvas with the representatives of an age long past.

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