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Tag Archives: Writing
The Loving Quark
Said Einstein, “into nature look, look deep
and better all things will you understand.”
To look into the heart – the seat
of love – he was, it seemed, imploring man. Continue reading
DS Squared Et Cetera
“Lovely approach to her tomb.”
“The pathways are dead ends.”
She looked. “Meaning?”
“Legend says the maze symbolised the unbridgeable divide between the living and the dead.”
“Why have you brought me here?” Continue reading
The boat had grounded in the half-shadows of a willow. The wild flapping of the flag on the mast had drawn his attention.
“I thought it a trapped bird. Strange flag.”
“A tapestry,” she said.
“A madwoman’s creation, Elaine.”
“Mad? Look, here is the moon’s reflection, shattered by the water. Here, the sun, sharded. Here, the stars, broken, all reflected in her mirror.” Continue reading
His parents didn’t come to the wedding; their gift a garish orange dinner service – cheap fairground prize won long ago.
“Carnival glass is collectable these days,” Adi had said, generously, adding,“they’ll come round. Patience.” Continue reading
I’ve been itching for the week to pass so I could open up my second batch of eco print bundles.
The first picture shows half of a long narrow band of the jacket lining fabric (probably cotton) that I used for some of my first eco prints. This time the colour is more pronounced. Again, I bound the bundles with sari silk and the colour has transferred. I also sandwiched in some rusty staple gun staples. I found a whole boxful in the shed that have lain around for a long time and are no longer fit for purpose. The frieze – as I’m calling it – looks like some sort of music notation. Continue reading
Parked and Hitched
“Driver parked the truck and vanished.”
“Abducted by aliens.”
We roared with laughter. The waitress glared.
“My ancestor ran off to California – gold rush era. Just disappeared.” Continue reading
Every Friday authors worldwide gather around the virtual fireside of Rochelle Wisoff and share stories of 100 words, prompted by a common photograph, and exchange constructive criticism. Readers’ comments are also welcome. This week’s photo has been provided by Ted … Continue reading
I jumped at the invective, glancing away from the dangling spaghetti of cables to the spaghetti of veins on the back of the hand that came gently down onto my shoulder. Continue reading
Flint & Feather: Scene X
She tucked away her car under the dense canopy of the towering pine. It stood on the opposite side of the narrow lane that gave access to Padraic’s garden. Better again, it was also 50 metres or so from the garden gate. It normally provided discreet cover – but not tonight. What had Ginny called it? Worm Moon. The wormy moon is full waxing, Ginny had said. The poesy of her speech was so far out of character as to sound ridiculous. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She could see some logic, for once, though. It was March. Worms would be working the soil, to stir it from its wintry sleep, awaken dormant seeds. Continue reading