Between two wind-blown trees.

She sheltered her sheets between two wind-blown trees; a worn linden and a sapling juniper. She wrote out her year beneath their dappled leaves, considering the worth of the words on the paper. * A worn linden and a sapling juniper; both told their own long-sown tales and, considering the worth of the words on … Continue reading Between two wind-blown trees.

Highway To Health.

Haltwhistle.    OS grid ref: NY 7083 6412 Haltwhistle is a small town and parish in northwest Northumberland. It lies 10 miles east of Brampton and has a population of 3,800. Early forms of the name are Hautwesel (1240), Hautwysel (1254), Hawtewysill (1279), Hautwysell (1381), Haltwesell (1610). The second part '-twistle' relates to two streams … Continue reading Highway To Health.

Notes From a Fragile Island. 17

March 5th 2013 (Llandudno) Jonathan X, the organiser of the Save Our Funicular festival, has assured us that we can crash at his house. He has appalling body odour and a tiny, plastic dragon perches on the top of his bald head. His pate is painted green. He wafts around the venue with one hand … Continue reading Notes From a Fragile Island. 17

EIF Nature Poetry Challenge: The Results — Experiments in Fiction

I enjoyed writing and researching this challenge, and to an even greater degree, I enjoyed reading the varied and delightful responses. I am very grateful to judge Misky of… 682 more wordsEIF Nature Poetry Challenge: The Results — Experiments in Fiction Delighted to see a new piece of mine in the latest EIF Poetry challenge alongside … Continue reading EIF Nature Poetry Challenge: The Results — Experiments in Fiction

Danny The Cow Hill Dreamer.

They piled the sled with a tray barbecue, some boxed hamburger, some bottles of booze, and they each took a turn to pull this prize bundle from Dovecote estate to the top of Cow Hill. The sky, full of futures and the soft snow, balled, was blue to the coast and, maybe, beyond. Danny kissed … Continue reading Danny The Cow Hill Dreamer.

The Wronged Tree.

The back lane, this new-year dawn, is littered, bleakly - tumbled bins, spent bottles, knuckled tabs, sodden boxes; hound shites, plastic wraps, a quilted headboard, yellowed hand towel; wrapping-paper tumbleweeds troubling parked cars; a bloody gown of herring gull (gutting something); and the last, the very last, or the first, Christmas tree, skulking and skittling … Continue reading The Wronged Tree.