Seed Fall Ch34

Chapter Thirty-Four of my current wip. As before, all and any comments very much appreciated

Please note: This is a weekly post

Warning: Adult material

Jess had fallen back onto the cave floor, drained of strength. Her hot tight body had sucked every last drop from him, left him dead. And yet as he opened his eyes and saw her, with her flesh sealed to his – at cheek, at breast, at hip, at thigh, and even their calves – with her beatific smile gazing at him, there came a surge of resurrection.

He didn’t question why he hadn’t achieved death. It was obvious he’d been too gentle, a half-hearted tamp and a nudge did not reach the lode. But if she was willing, if she was encouraging, he’d try again, and this time he’d copy the miners on Kreegirn and burrow his awl deep into her.

She accepted when he moved again to cover her. She spread, she arched, she offered. And he, harder than before, his awl grown to a shaft, nudged, found entrance and rammed deep into her.

He was in the cave, yet he was not. He was in space, the Animosphere, surrounded by spirits that brushed and caressed and ruffled his skin, every part of him alive, urging him on to a mighty blissful crescendo in which he would die. She screamed. He bit her, teeth clamped into her shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh of her glutes, pulling her closer, closer, while driving in harder. He burrowed into her deep, to split her, to wrap her around him, to merge, to tether, to meld, cling and cohere. He rammed, banged and battered. He bashed, pummelled and pounded, transported beyond her body, beyond the cavern, beyond the tetraspheres, into the Animosphere.

His body became a solitary shaft, a pestle, a reamer that drove him on and on, thrilled through with incandescent sensations to achieve the exquisite explosive annihilation of death.

Death was sweet. It stole his senses and left him deflated and numb.

That state didn’t last.

He opened an eye, saw Cela-Byi, her arms and legs wrapped around his sweat-glistened body, saw her blood smeared thighs. He sat up, alarmed. “I’ve hurt you.”

She laughed, pressing up on her elbow to rise above him. Her laughter soothed his body and wiped his aches. “First time always bleeds.” He didn’t know what that meant. He pulled her close again, arms around her, holding tight, and kissed her. Kissed her wonderfully ripe-fruit lips, kissed her petal-soft cheeks, her sweat-dampened neck, her shoulders, the left and the right. He would have kissed more but she told him no.

“But you’ve taken me through death to this… this spirit-sphere. But I shouldn’t have taken you with me. Unfair of me to make you die too.” And he held her so very tight, his body now swelling to enfold her.

“We’re not dead.” She inhaled a deep draught of air. And expelled it in a powerful gasp. “Alive, like the spirits inhabit us now.” Again, she laughed.

“But…” This didn’t tally with what he’d been told. Though he had to agree, despite his exhaustion, he felt newly alive.

“You take me to your hill-place now?”

At her words, remembrance crowded, and elation deserted. He wasn’t dead. He was still the zem, responsible for Clutch Six. And Clutch Six was now host to two Itamakku females. Those of his clutch out at Hive Seven were already transitioning. But the fears and turmoil he’d experienced at these few facts no longer held him beneath a darkening cloud. To mate with an Itamakku female – a woman, the word in the Itamakkuese tongue – didn’t bring lasting death. Once again, the Techs had lied.

“To our hill-place, our base. Already, two of your women from Toki-dow are there. But you know, we are not gods. You do know this now?” He felt the need to press this into her. He didn’t want the Itamakku falling to their knees and gifting them with dead things.

“Not gods.” She nodded and smiled and again wrapped herself around him. “But star-men, you are, from Adamzal.”

He couldn’t deny that.

*

A surge of relief lifted Jess as he watched the precipitous rockface with its cave, the forest, then Hive Seven’s farmland, fall away beneath him. He looked at Cela-Byi seated beside him, all wide-eyed and grinning. Whether there were other Itamakku women at the basecamp or not mattered not. He couldn’t have left her alone in that cave in the forest, unprotected. Later, he would return to that cave and the drawings. This time, without Cela-Byi twittering her interpretation at him, maybe he’d be able to grasp their meaning. But that wasn’t for now. Now, he had entered a female, and maybe he’d died, but he’d also resurrected. And if this was to happen to others of his clutch, he needed to understand that.

Was it, as he suspected, that the Techs had spread a story to cover their dealings? That it was the Techs that delivered the death blow? Or did the Monza male only die if he entered a female Monza? These Itamakku might waft their Monza-triggering pheromones, but were they otherwise like the Monza females? He’d say no.

A third option hit him. What if his survival was entirely due to being in that cave? Then his clutch was still at risk. And how would he know until one of them also mated? He supposed it wouldn’t be long before that happened. Once triggered, those Itamakku women weren’t easily resisted. And there were two at the base now.

What surprised him more than anything was that mating just once wasn’t enough. Though he was resisting it as hard as he would a poison pit, he wanted to land the flier, spread Cela-Byi, and dive back in. Did her pheromones call him back? Or the memory of how it had been? Or was it related to the swell of affection, there since their first encounter? It wasn’t the affection he had for Kookka, nor that he’d had for his sister. He’d never felt a desire to mate with either of those. To hold her, hold her close, to be with her every moment of every day. And now he was bringing her back to the base because he feared for her life. He grinned his happiness, chest swelling yet more, that she sat beside him and soon would reside with him.

At that thought another came. He’d been away five days – was it really five? Was he still the zem? What had happened in his absence? Where was Canipse; was he still walking northward, still alive? How many of his clutch had been triggered by the presence of those two women? And why hadn’t he asked their names before he left? Then of the women, how were they managing with the language? He realised now how irresponsible he’d been to take the flier before all was sorted.

*

Clamour as noisy as any Canipse might stir greeted Jess’s return. Shouts, one above and against the other, such a cacophony Jess couldn’t distinguish the words. Questions, by their tone. And this even before he’d left the flier, Cela-Byi’s hand securely held in his. But then on seeing her, the Monzas’ quizzical looks replaced their questions.

He introduced her. “This is spirit-woman Cela-Byi of Toki-dow, Skein One breeding pool. I have brought her here for her protection. There are Itamakki in that dow who want her dead.”

“I see our base is becoming an Itamakku dow,” Armar called across the heads of those gathered. They parted to allow him through.

Cela-Byi slipped her hand out of Jess’s grasp. Jess glanced at her. She’d taken a stance square on to the newcomer, as he’d seen her do to the dow headman.

“I couldn’t leave her alone in that cave,” Jess said.

Armar’s left eyebrow rose. “In more ways than one? So, you finally succumbed, and you bring her back here, Zem Jess.”

Jess’s fingers curled, his jaw tightened. He hadn’t expected this from Armar. And he’d have preferred to speak with him in private. But with three fertile women now living amongst them, his clutch had to know. He wouldn’t have them tormented by the same fear that had tormented him. But he cast a look around. Where were the two women that Kookka and Joel had brought in? Armar nodded to a small hive set equidistance between the fly-port and the arrangement of the clutch-hives, a fence erected around it.

“You think it’s been easy keeping Monza minds on their duties when you invite those females to…” Armar’s face roared red. “And you don’t even stay to sort it but disappear off for days on end. For all I knew you could’ve been dead.”

Jess nodded to accept the rebuke. “Can we talk of this later?” It shouldn’t have been said in front of the clutch but too late now. Yet it had given him a lead into what he needed to say.

“Forgive my anger,” Armar said, quietly, discretely, between the two. “Kookka wasn’t the only one who feared for your life.”

Again, Jess nodded. “Later.” And turned to address the softly muttering clutch. If they’d had moveable directional ears, all would have been aligned with Jess and Armar’s conversation.

He again took Cela-Byi’s hand and moved to stand closer.

“I called you all together when we had the problem with the Sanki trespassers at the outlying farms. I told you that contact with these females would trigger your transition to maturity. And looking around I can see this is happening. I’m no longer alone in growing a beard.”

He allowed his clutch to chuckle at that before saying more. Though the humour failed to counter the squint of the many confused and fearful eyes.

“I told you then – in good faith – that to mate with these females would bring immediate death. But I’ve since discovered that applies only to the Monza females on Adamzal. In joining with an Itamakki…” he wrapped his arm around Cela-Byi’s waist. She glanced up at him and seemed to glow. His heart swelled, could they see? Beneath his crotch-cloth his shaft grew in anticipation. Would this desire never cease? “There comes a time in that joining when maybe we do die. Maybe. But then again we are alive. See here. Am I dead?”

“These are dangerous words.”

Jess looked to see who had spoken. Antel. He stood at the back, alongside Armar, the beginnings of a beard sprouting.

“You fear they’ll fight for the chance to satisfy their desire?” Jess understood that. He would kill any other who tried to bump and grind and shaft his Cela-Byi.

“We’ve marked their hive off-limits,” Antel said. “And that while they still feared they’d die.”

Jess turned to Cela-Byi, to explain the situation. “How can we protect them?”

Cela-Byi had yet to meet the two women, but from the same dow, she would know them. “Once bumped, no other man will go near them.”

“Amongst your Itamakku. But we’re not they.”

“No, but every woman has a knife and will kill whoever dares.”

“Once…bumped?” He rubbed his forehead above his eyes. How had things become so complicated?

Meanwhile, many of his clutch, even his own obs team, had turned granite eyes on Armar and Antel, these two who had kept them from the women. Armar’s hand hovered close to his stun-gun.

Another problem flared into mind. Jess had been thinking only of the women here on base. But there were many more women in the dows. This could cause such ructions.

“One more word with you,” he said to his clutch. “Then you’re to return to your duties. Until I say otherwise, only those with no sign of transition are to take out the fliers.”

“Does that apply to you too?” Armar asked.

“I have no desire for any other female but Cela-Byi.” That must be so, for he hadn’t thought any more of the Banmakka female at Hive Seven.

“That will please Kookka and Joel,” Antel said, sarcasm thick in his tone. “They’ve been helping the two Sankis to speak our language.”

“Is that where they are now?”

“They’re on flier-duty,” Armar said. “Tracking Canipse.”

“But Canipse must be several days’ fly-time away by now. So how can they—”

“I sent them out yesterday. They should be gone three days. And your spirit-woman, I don’t want her in our hive. You understand?”

Jess sucked back his breath, his words, his annoyance. He hadn’t intended to install Cela-Byi in his hive. That would have been wrong on every count. What he would have done with her if those other two hadn’t shown up, he didn’t know. But clearly, she must share that new hive with them. He took her there now.

Continues Monday

Thank you for reading. Your comments are most welcome

Hope you enjoyed

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Sunday Picture Post: Autumn, South of the Border

When the only day you’re able to walk the camera is forecast with high winds and pelting rain, it’s time to stay home and raid the archives again.

13th September 2021 we hop a bus, and another bus, and head out across our county border, to a cluster of villages centred on Rushmere. Please join us, and enjoy

13th September 2021

Bypasses are wonderful for keeping through traffic away from villages, but not so good for walkers who need to cross that busy road. However, here we find an underpass intended for cyclists 🔼 Once away from the traffic we head for a farm track 🔽 alongside a field of (probably) sugar beet

13th September 2021

13th September 2021

Rejoining the road 🔼 which here is a lane, we’ve a feeling we’re now in France! 🔽 It must be the car

13th September 2021

13th September 2021

Small features attract my lens 🔼 a postbox, someone’s garden fork 🔽 and a small apple tree ⏬

13th September 2021

13th September 2021

13th September 2021

Our intent now is to circle around the back of Mutford Hall (see below) which requires us to cross a meadow 🔼 wet underfoot. We catch sight of sunflowers in someone’s garden 🔽 and pass an old carriage or cart house ⏬

13th September 2021

13th September 2021

And then we are there 🔽 the back of Mutford Hall. Alas, I know nothing about its history

13th September 2021

Circling around to rejoin a bus route we wander across a stray sunflower in a field-corner 🔽

13th September 2021

That’s all for now. Don’t miss the additional photos on Tuesday and this week there’s a return of Friday Fliers!

Hope you enjoyed.

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Will’s Lines Lost To The Noisy Ramble

Carving by Mark Goldworthy in Chapelfield Gardens, Norwich. Photo by Graham Hardy

Mother Kemp, ‘tis good to see you on your feet again

As I’ve been these past two days

Then you’ll ‘ave seen your Will at the Globe yestereen? Got a good part, ‘as he?

Good enough. Comes on stage, prances and dances, an’ off he goes again

No words to say?

Mayhap, but lost to me thanks to the flibbertigibbets


60 words written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Flibbertigibbets

William Kempe, 1560-1603, was an actor and dancer in Shakespeare’s early days of theatre. But he’s best known to me for his 110-mile London to Norwich Morris Dance Marathon in 1600.

Not an ancestor; he belonged to the Kentish Kemps, not those of the Waveney Valley

 

 

 

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CCC051: Remembering Walter

You remember Wally?

Walter, William’s son? Face like a walrus?

Yea, but lacking the tusks.

Yea, right, but you ever get a good look at his teeth. Rotten worse than a late autumn apple.

That’s the one.

What about him?

That’s his winch over there.

Yea? So where’s his boat?

He took it out one morning and never came home.

Ah, I wondered why I’d not seen him around. You reckon he’s dead?

What’d you think? Just look at that winch, that’s not been used in fifty years.

 

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #051

Every Wednesday I’ll post FOUR photos (if you want to get a head start you’ll find them marked in that week’s Sunday Picture Post and Tuesday Treats). Lots of choice!

And here they are:

You respond with something CREATIVE. Perhaps an  answering photo, or micro-fiction, or a poem, or just a caption

As before, there are only two criteria:

!!!!! Your creative offering is indeed yours !!!!!

!!!!! Your writing is kept to 150 words or less !!!!!

If you post a link in the comments section of this post I’ll be able to find it.

Here’s wishing you inspirational explosions. And FUN

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Tuesday Treats: A Day At The Beach

A non-structured selection of photos taken during our visit to Lowestoft and Pakefield on 27th August 2025. Enjoy

27th August 2025

Even the gulls are at rest, enjoying the sun 🔼

27th August 2025

The sun is strong! 🔼🔽

27th August 2025

27th August 2025

Pakefield Beach: Marram Grass 🔼🔽 and ‘Beach’ Roses (Rosa rugosa?)

27th August 2025

Those birds (sparrows) such a quarrelsome lot 🔽

27th August 2025

27th August 2025

More beach flora: Tree Lupin 🔼🔽 Sea Pea and ⏬ Horned Poppy

27th August 2025

27th August 2025

I wonder how long this winch has rested here, and when it was last used? 🔽

27th August 2025

27th August 2025

The incoming tide brought a strong wind that defeated the gulls and held them stationary when all they wanted was to get out to sea 🔼🔽

27th August 2025

That’s all for now. Hope you enjoyed. Alas, no butterflies, so no Friday Fliers this week 😥

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Seed Fall Ch33

Chapter Thirty-Three of my current wip. As before, all and any comments very much appreciated

Please note: This is a weekly post

Is this the scene you’ve been waiting for?

With every Monza he trained in flier-control, Jess drummed it into them that they must record their flight. Where were they going, why the need, and their expected return. Those of his obs team looked at him as if to say he was turning into a Tech. But he wasn’t. After his night in the swamp, he knew how important it was that someone at base knew where Monza and flier had gone. Though reluctant to advertise his destination and clue up those who’d no need to know his mission, yet Jess obediently filled in the Techs’ flight log. Hive Seven, to explore the caves in the immediate vicinity. He didn’t give a reason for the exploration, but Kookka, and probably Armar too, would know.

He shouldn’t have left it this long. Exiled from her dow, alone in the forest, a cave her only shelter…it didn’t matter how much he wanted to avoid her because he feared his own death, with his interference he could have brought about hers. It shouldn’t have taken the arrival of those two females from Toki-dow to stir his conscience. He had encountered their spirit-woman, Cela-Kuci, and had witnessed her hostility; he knew that she wanted Cela-Byi dead. Jealous, he supposed, and he could understand why.

Closer to the farmlands of Hive Seven, he traced a wide circle not to be seen by the resident operatives. Eulal and Niapse were backs bent in the furthest field; that suited him fine. He brought the flier down in the same grassy place he’d used when he’d brought Cela-Byi here. The cave’s entrance was a short climb up a gully to the west.

Everything from his heart to his groin felt in flux. Anxiety warred with anticipation. What if she wasn’t there? What defence had she against a hungry prowling forest cat? And what was he to say to her? He must relay Cela-Kuci’s message. But why hadn’t he thought to ask the females’ names? Because his head had been too full of fear for her.

As soon as he set foot in the cave a small dragon reared and hissed at him. His hand flew to his stun-gun.

“No!”

The distressed cry stayed his hand, his eyes wide in confusion. Had that cry come from the venomous dragon? No one had told him these dragons could speak. But the spoken Itamakkuese was a clue.

That cry had stayed the dragon too. It settled back, quiescent.

“Star-spirit Kija…” Cela-Byi’s voice rang out joyously from the depths of the cave. And before he could take another breath she had thrown herself into his arms, arms he had swiftly opened to accept her before she sent him flying. “You return.”

He’d forgotten how strong the want could be with her in his arms and the smell of her and the softness of her and the warmth and the pressing. He glanced across the cave at the small dragon. He sent a look back over his shoulder at the flier. Surrender would be most wonderful. To enter and die.

But he couldn’t. He must not. He was the zem and with the Techs gone the entire clutch was dependant on him.

He unclasped her hands from behind his waist and stepped away. He must not succumb, he must not. But what now was he to say? “There have been messengers at our camp. From Cela-Kuci. She wants you to return.”

And I have found your message.” She clasped his hand and tugged. “But I don’t understand it. Come, I show. Then you say.”

What was he to do? He followed, bemused.

But what message was this? Not one from him for though he’d been on Ayin before that had been half a planet away. Who then had left a message here? A previous obs team? Or maybe – more likely – Cela-Byi was mistaken. He didn’t object, the distraction was welcome. To be in her company and yet not feel that compulsion to…mate.

Cela-Byi didn’t warn him of how difficult the passages nor how long this would take. Higher within the cave system, always climbing, never a step down. But it wasn’t ever dark for wherever there was space for it she had set fires. But the long stretches where he had to squeeze his body between the constricting rock walls, he had to work hard to hold down his panic. Were it not for techniques he’d learned on Colabri he’d have been scrabbing to find a way out of there. Worse still were the equally long passages where the only way through was to belly-crawl. Following her through these awkward places, he gave no thought to the sight in front of him, her bobbing bottom in those short dragon-skins. He sweated, but not from desire.

It was ironic, he wanted to tell her, that until he’d joined the GM Programme his entire life had been spent in caves, though none like this. As with all Monzas, he’d been born in one, though he’d no memory of that. He remembered the nursery though, with his twin and their milk-mother, sister of his dead father. That too was a cave. So too were the schools. Birth-chambers, nurseries, schools, they formed an extensive system within the caves that ranged for many days and nights, lit by psi-lights. Then having studied metallurgy, geology and mineralogy, he and his sister were taken to the mines on Kreegirn where his sister had died – because the Techs had sent her to work though she was ailing. Was it a wonder he hated the Techs.

“Here,” Cela-Byi announced as the tight passage opened into a wide cavern, amply lit by a fire. She opened her arms as if to embrace a scene drawn in black on the white limestone wall. “See?”

What a relief, he could finally breathe. And he did indeed see.

He folded his arms across his chest while he observed from a distance, preferring first to see it in its entirety. From that easy stance his left hand crept to his mouth until he realised he was sucking his thumb. As he told himself, it was the aftereffect of the panic. He drew his hand away. But his thumb returned, though not to suck, more to nibble, another old nursery habit.

“I see women…” All but one, and all fenced around. “Itamakku, are they?”

“I say this too,” she said.

“And these others…?”

“That’s you.” She used a stick to point to the tallest figure.

He could see why she’d think that. Like the figure, he was tall, much taller than the Itamakku. And his yellow jacket did make his chest and shoulders look square. Boxy, he’d say. But the figure in the drawing was not wearing pants. His genitals were displayed. And as with Jess whenever he as much as thought of Cela-Byi, there were clear signs of arousal. It was all Jess could do to keep his hands from touching, pressing, fondling that rapidly rising part. By every Pendoling Pit he wanted to bury himself in her body. He crossed his arms again and returned his attention to the drawing. There was more to this than a clutch of Monzas with erections. That other part bothered him. The three smaller figures with those lines connecting to the Monzas.

“Have you seen our Techs?” he asked Cela-Byi and pointed to them.

“The Techs?” She had to concentrate to pronounce this strange word. “These are your gods? Gods of the star-gods, this I understand. Spirits are everywhere. Everywhere, without number. But star-spirit-gods are only twelve. See?”

With the same stick she pointed to twelve pentagons above the figures, clearly intended to be fliers. Beside each were marks. Monza words? Jess moved closer to the drawing to inspect them. They could have been Monza words though not in the form used when making reports.

But then she named them. “You – Kija – Kerbi, Tawan, Sae, Kuca, Wael, Naba, Byi my dragon, Manula, Nozim, Tiki and Sarbi.”

He recognised the names as those given to Itamakku infants. But those given names were taken from their houses. Itamakku names, not Monza. The names of their families. “Ancestor gods?”

“Star-spirit-gods,” she said, as if to confirm. “And the…Techs, they are like the big gods that birthed the stars. Sand-Sky, Sun-Sky, Moon-Sky. And beyond the beyond, there is First Mother, Night Sky.”

Jess liked her logic. And perhaps it fitted in with the beliefs of the Itamakku. There was just one thing wrong with it. He took her hands and pulled her down to sit opposite him beside the fire. “Cela-Byi, I am not a star-spirit-god, not the spirit-deer. I am…” but the name of Monza would mean nothing to her. “I am from a land far away. Adamzal. My name is Jess. And neither are the Techs gods. They are…”

His mouth dried. His thoughts ceased. He didn’t know what the Techs were. Supposedly the same species as Monza. Yet apart from basic anatomy, they were nothing alike. They were masters of the psi-sphere. But not undisputed, though Jess would admit his inability to use the psi-sphere to traverse the universe and manipulate matter in the way the Techs did it. “They are our masters,” Jess said and didn’t like the feel of that.

Cela-Byi drew back, sat straight, and copied Jess’s crossed-arm stance. She stared at him, her brows lowered and tight, blocking the light reflected from the limestone ceiling to cast deep shadows over her eyes. “No. Adamzal isn’t a land far away. Adamzal is a place amongst the stars. I see you, I see you with hair ablaze like the sun and eyes aglow like the stars. You are a star-man. Maybe not Kija, but a star-man the same. And you came here for a reason. What is that reason? Like in that drawing on the wall, to take me?”

“But I’ve nowhere to take you.” Did she believe he could just whisk her off to the stars?

She upped to her feet and peeled away the dragon skins until she stood, a small distance from him, naked. “Take me. Don’t reject and disgrace me.”

Inside he was flummoxed, wanting everything he saw, yet knowing to take it would deliver his death.

“The drawing says it.” Her plaintive voice pulled at every part of his innards. “You, Adamzal star-man, brought me to this cave to see this drawing so I would know that you come here to bump me. Now take me, don’t reject me.”

Too stunned to speak, to move, he stood unyielding when she tugged at his hands. He did nothing to stop her; his jacket, pants, crotch-cloth, boots, every last item of clothing stripped from him. Her lips ensured he was ready, overcoming his fear of the resultant death. She held him close against her naked body and all thoughts deserted him. How did he know to do what he did? But this was bliss, to die like this.

Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed
For those readers who feel I’ve drawn the curtain too soon, I’ll satisfy you next week

Comments especially welcomed

 

Posted in Fantasy Fiction, Mythic Fiction | Tagged , , , | 11 Comments

Sunday Picture Post: A Day At The Beach

27th August 2025 forecasted to be hot, again, too hot to head inland so we decide to spend the day at the beach – but not at our beach. We hop a bus to take us south of the county border to Lowestoft. Our plan is to walk the beach to the fishing village of Pakefield (because I love their boats), and back. Sunscreen on, let’s go

27th August 2025

Lowestoft is an international port. True, it hasn’t the capacity of the big Channel ports, and it has to open its bridges to allow the big ships to enter. A Lifeboat man stands on constant watch 🔼 The port is also a magnet for weekend sailors; here we see the club house 🔽

27th August 2025

27th August 2025

It’s always pleasant to walk Lowestoft’s prom. Plenty of seats provided too, so we can sit and watch the waves roll in 🔼🔽

27th August 2025

27th August 2025

At the end of Lowestoft’s prom is Pakefield’s prom. Smooth transition. If it weren’t for the change in the beach (from soft sand to harsh stone) we’d never realise we’d arrived. Though that church is a giveaway! 🔼🔽

27th August 2025

27th August 2025

Boats. Boats, boats, boats, that’s what I love about this beach 🔼🔽⏬

27th August 2025

Where do they find the weatherproofed materials to protect their fishing boats? It reads: From Birmingham to Barcelona incl taxes £39.90 🔽

27th August 2025

27th August 2025

Stepping back, atop the low cliffs, for a longer view 🔼🔽

27th August 2025

27th August 2025

Back at Lowestoft, the tide’s coming in 🔼🔽 seaward of harbour’s mouth

27th August 2025

That’s all folks. We’re off to find our fish and chips, the perfect finish to the day

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Oh Mother-Dear, Not You

1st June 2021

They’re going to kill me
I have to leave
Shoes, clothes, tights
What to take to keep it light
Bank card, pension book
But then they’ll know just where to look
I’ll withdraw the money before I go

Mother, where are you off to?

You’re going to kill me, I have to go

Oh Mother-dear
Whatever gave you that idea?

You said it, I heard
Going to kill that fat old bird

Old Bertha, the hen, not you, you sweet head-flop
You really shouldn’t eavesdrop


85 words written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Eavesdrop

Posted in Poems (Some Silly) | Tagged , | 24 Comments

Friday Fliers and Fungi

As the butterfly season draws to a close their place is taken by the first of the fungi, although Fungi Friday as a regular feature might be a month or so away. However, let’s enjoy what we’ve got today

21st August 2025

🔼🔽 Small whites

21st August 2025

🔽 Speckled wood

21st August 2025

21st August 2025

🔼🔽 Gatekeeper

21st August 2025

As in previous season, I don’t attempt to name the fungi unless I’m absolutely sure. Which is a rare occasion.

21st August 2025

21st August 2025

21st August 2025

21st August 2025

Hope you enjoyed this.

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