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5 July: Morning on the Lake
Morning on the Lake (memories from a child’s diary) The boat’s nose sniffs at sunrise—wet-bright and sweet, chasingits tail across a rising hush, and the oars dip and grin,spilling silver over minnowsthat taste of pepper and paper. I am queen of this nowhere kingdom.I am Amphitrite of dragonfly fleets.My hair is plaited in ropes of…
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4 July: Ten Things of Thankful
In no particular order: I’m thankful for the Eurasian Jay with its three young ones who visited me in the garden on Tuesday. Such a beautiful bird. I’ve not seen one in West Sussex before today. They were busily sucking up the ants who were readying to fly. The ants are flying, which is called…
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3 July: A Thursday Door
The Spyglass Heart Beneath the Number Ten’s soft gaze,the ghost of barley sings in haze. Its knocker knows the brewer’s song—and echoes of the monkish throng. A diamond pane, a spyglass heart,once watched the carts and lovers start. The handle—brass with tales to keep—has warmed the palms of kings in sleep. Beneath the brick and…
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3 July: Marked
Marked (a reshuffled deck of marked cards) I. The Misfit GospelThey come unwashed. Overplayed.Rust in their lungs. Whiskey in their grief.The hymn starts low —a breath caught on glass —and still they kneel.Gamblers. Bruised palms openlike confession slips. II. Communion for SinnersThe bread’s dry.The wine tastes like railroad tracks.Take the body. Bite down.Blame’s baked in.Estranged…
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2 July: Fireworks for 100WW
Fireworks Hotdogs. Mustard. Mum’s potato salad — she always brought it to family dos. It was thick with mayo, heavy on onion, chopped eggs, cubed potatoes, and crushed saltine crackers. “Saltines are a southern thing,” she explained to my aunt, who, in turn, huffed that Mum wasn’t southern; she was more northern than Alaska. While…
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2 July: A Six – Brigid’s Journal
2 July: Left Scotland last night. Writing under the shadows of the monastic ruins of Lindisfarne, Northumbrian coast – aka Holy Island Arvet i Grönt – The Inheritance in Green The bowl was always there before I was, there resting in my grandmother’s lap like a second sun, heavy with stories it refused to spill.…
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2 July: A Six – Brigid’s Journal (revised)
2 July: Glen Affric, Scotland. Brigid leaves the Highlands with quiet hands and a storm behind her—what she carries now can’t be packed. Brigid Leaves the Highlands Brigid twists Connor’s ring from her finger; it clicks against the wooden table—a sound too small for such a leaving. This isn’t abandonment, it’s an offering to the…
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June: Last Photo on the Card
This post is in response to Brian’s monthly challenge Last Photo on the Card. Brian (aka Bushboy) asks for the Last Photos on your phone/camera/SD card. Here is the last shot taken using my iPhone 16 Pro Max. Shared on Twitter with @bushboywhotweet
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1 July: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Creates a YouTube Account(a masterclass in digital anonymity) The cat, draped across the old woman’s keyboard in repose,begins typing.Slowly.Deliberately.With one claw. First: the username.sardinesupremacist — taken. Probably by the crow.knittingwithclaws — too obvious.notacattrustme — suspiciously defensive.fibreartistformerlyknownascat — perfect. The drama, the mystery, the disdain. Next: the password.ilovefish123! — hacked in two seconds. Amateur…
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1 July: A Six Sentence Story
12 of 27: Frostwrit – Affection Behind a Locked Jaw The Egg Song “Easy, be gentle, my girl,” her grandmother says, eyebrows knitting into a single grey line, “and remember what I taught you this morning — focus, centre yourself — now be quick, or she’ll peck your eyes out.” “Mothers will do that,” the…
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