Sunday Services

 #27

Does my Fairy Godmother stand just beyond the hedge, with her sun-tipped wand adding a perfect sparkling glimmer as you career down the hill? 
And where do you hurry to on this brilliant morning? A church service or, like I will, to an out of town supermarket teaming with harassed shoppers. 
Sunday.

No longer a day of rest.

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Six Word Saturday part two

#5

DSCF3806 (2)

 
Happily single.
Yes definitely.
I think…

Last six word stone for Saturday
#6
Daft sodden dog patiently awaits sunshine.

Six-Word Saturday

Small Stones day 26

Today I am attempting to rise to the challenge of writing my stones in just six words…could be tricky as am inclined to be a bit wordy at times (ok I know a bit of an understatement)

# 1
Wind roars while, inside, I shake.

#2
Moving stone. Secret avalanche of tears.

#3
Big knickers. My knickers. Not yours!

#4

Sea spews forth power shaping stones

Sea spews forth power shaping stones

Faux Suntans and Invisible Ice Cream

# 25 ½

A bottle of fake tan lies discarded on the bathroom floor. Images of a Neapolitan-coloured daughter and her games lesson spring to mind. Brown legs (only bit to receive the sun-free rays), white remainder of body…and face – looking pink (whether from unwelcome exertion or embarrassment at boys’ proximity while in the unbecoming sports kit– who can tell?).  Good enough to eat – my delicious confectionary of a hormonal teenager.

Comatose

Small Stone #25

Through a fog of sleep, I hear a familiar voice. I doze on and off while the tones continue – annoyingly over-jovial in the face of my brain’s morning reluctance to rouse itself. Then, insistently, another sound comes into the mix. This one cannot, WILL NOT, be ignored. I reach out and switch my alarm to snooze. Just five more minutes…

Heartsong

‎#24

I have a rather special friend. He comes from the west coast of Africa. His body (that has seen forests and men with axes) still bears the scars and marks of his journey from there to here. His garment of choice is skin of goat.
Sometimes my friend joins in a choir of others, in unison or part of a harmonising group.
On other occasions he sings an echoing, plaintive song.
At other times the response to another’s call is all that is asked of him.
As I listen and take my place, I do get carried away rather frequently – my hands then show the effects.
Then again just the gentlest of touches is enough sometimes.

I listen to his song and to that of his soul-mates and my mind is transported; taken to where worries and fears, and the mundanities of life, are no more.

What If…

‎#23

I wonder what you would have said if you had known that I would write about you one day.

I do it to make amends. Sleep well.

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