Six Word Sunday

Dog has just regurgitated birthday cake…

A New Forest Trip

An ancient forest of sky high pines beckon us inwards; we crunch, scuffle and squelch along encountering a richly-patterned carpet. Stepping carefully around a rug of animal making, we wend our way further into the gloom of the waiting woods. Our feet, two pairs and one set of four, sink into the pine-cone-encrusted quagmire with its sprinkling of late-fallen leaves and spindly twigs. Do I imagine the brambles try to trap our progress while the mud attempts to swallow us whole?

Six Word Saturday/Sunday in Wales

Feet pound along budget hotel corridors.

Sitting at pub breakfast – wifi bonus!

Sharp temperature descent highlights clothing inadequacy…

Yesterday’s digging reveals skeletons from past.

Mining heritage memories friends. Deep connections…

Talk reveals much food for thought…

A Mossy Bed to Rest

High on a Welsh hillside, the tiny bones of twin infants; no stone to mark their passing, yet for those who remember the tale…a church name, a date and, to my bitter-sweet emotions, the plot is finally identifiable by the small green mound where they lie together in death as they were in life for 5 short months. They died three months apart aged 5 months and 8.
No stone marks their passing… but this… and a newly placed bunch of yellow tulips.
Without their loss my mother would not have been conceived and therefore nor I…


A pang of apprehension hits my stomach as it sinks into the depths of the earth along with the rest of my body. Echoes of ancient picks seem to ring in my ears – although they haven’t touched the thinning seams of black gold for thirty four years. I turn and look back up the tunnel into the stygian darkness and it is the turn of my eyes to fool me into seeing a light deep in the distance. I know that we are the only humans in this part of the mine but maybe the spirits of the two hundred lost souls still haunt this labyrinth, not to mention those faithful ponies…who for just two weeks in every fifty-two got to run free in the fields above…

A word…a word…my kingdom for a word!

Once we had crossed the Severn Bridge, my Dad kept bursting into snatches of the Welsh National Anthem. This prompted my Mum’s accusation that he’d missed out a word…although owing to the dodgy accent (not to mention the fact that he was tone deaf) it was almost impossible to work out which one!


As the music soared and plummeted; the bow swept and fingers plucked the strings, wringing every ounce of emotion from the audience who sat with bated breath until the last note of the last symphony had been played. The silence rang out as true and clear appreciation between each of the Planets as one after another they were performed with a virtuosity that brought a tear to many a hardened proms-goer’s eye. Today, I sat there the proud Aunt.

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