Thursday, February 28, 2019


28th Feb 2019

Here's the photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers. 

Photo : Jean L Hays


I hear you first - your familiar song
and my heart begins to soar
I raise my eyes -  there you are
In the tree behind the store.

I stand for a while and watch you
A tear forming on my cheek
For a few brief moments I forget
That the weather is yet so bleak.

Then with joy I remember
That day three years ago
When finally she took her last breath
On that day too, there was snow.

In you flew to the garden
To the tree just outside the room
You gave us a last swansong
As her soul floated up to the moon

Monday, February 11, 2019


11th Feb 2019 

I apologise  for being late with the Friday  Fictioneers 100 hundred word challenge.
Have been busy with family and other writing demands. A magazine has just asked if they can use a piece I wrote on homeschooling as well . Chuffed about that. 
So, I've joined in but... Well. you will see.
But, in my defence, it is exactly 100 words!! 


This fire looks very inviting to me at the moment, stuck as we are, without any heating. It reminds me of camping trips with good friends. Children snuggled up warm in sleeping bags, leaving mums and dads free to relax with wine fueled debate late into the night. But, yes, trust the boiler to die in the coldest month of the year. Mind you, we knew three years ago that we would have to replace it, but thought we'd wait till it actually broke down. Well now it has. We’re cold. Hate the cold.  Sure I've told you that before.

Friday, February 1, 2019


1st Feb 2019

Struggled to write just the 100 words for Friday Fictioneers today. Had to edit from 300 - ish. Hope it still has some sense.
Might still write  a poem with in response to this prompt though.

Wild Place
Rosanna pulled back the canvas.
"Wow, Clare look. The sky - pink, purple, orange, hues of  blue.
And mountains ..."
Her sister looked through the peephole.
"Wow that's amazing. But I won't forget."
"I know. Let dad sleep. We'll make coffee."  Wrapped  in blankets they walked to chairs, left out the night before.
" You know they always planned to come here,  the two of them ."
"Yes, but not with us, Ros.  Dad's just being weird."
"There used to be four chairs," Ros sat down, "lately only  two," she wiped away a tear, "and  now three. We're here because dad needs this."