image by Adina Voicu on pixabay
Mr McGoo supped too much brew
It’s true, phew, he hadn’t a clue
He slumped on the pew with only one shoe
Ignored all the fuss, looking askew
Till sobered anew
Written from Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Anew in 31 words
On the road from Kimberley to Free State; Google Maps Street View
Izzy checked the address – such an English-looking cottage, with rambling roses over the porch; she knocked on the door.
“Aunt Bessy?” Her voice trembled, shocked to see a woman whose iron-grey hair was crisp as a person of colour. Yet none could deny her whiteness. “I’m Isabel. Jimmy’s daughter.”
“Jimmy…” the woman repeated. “South African Jimmy?”
Izzy nodded.
“Then best you come in. Is it a visit, or… a stay?”
“A visit. I wanted to meet Uncle Daniel before I settle in Southhampton.”
“I know you wrote that Jimmy’s dead but… is that a reason to leave? He married three times, has a score and a half of children. They can’t all be dead.”
“Fifteen. And they’re dead to me, taken from us in ’48. Sent to live in Orange Free State, across the border from Kimberley. You and Uncle Daniel are the only family I have now.”
148 words written for What Pegman Saw: Free State, South Africa
Based on the true events of a visit in 1966 (names changed). Isabel’s mother had been white, but Jimmy’s second and third wives were women of colour, and yet the women had been sisters. Isabel settled in Southampton with her English husband.
I don’t claim to identify this fungus with utter confidence, but I’d hazard a guess at the Hairy Curtain Crust. No, I’m not kidding; that is its name. As with the other curtains and resupinate crusts, it becomes particularly visible in drenching wet weather. And we had plenty of that this autumn past.
Swollen squiggles… quite artistic: 1st Oct 2019
The photo above gives no idea of its size. So… this is how it looks as you pass it by…
Long shot… on a different log
I live between river and sea, potential enough to fulfil Maria’s Antonia’s #2020picoftheweek challenge title of Water.
Breydon Water, at the confluence of rivers Bure and Yare: 8th Jan 2020
I have folders full of photos of water… placid water, for the refective surfaces fascinate me. But what I liked here was the agitation. It was the turn of the tide.
Crimson’s Creative Challenge #62
He was apprenticed to a tailor, learned to cut a gentleman’s suit, learned to sew it and with his stitching to effect the gentle roll and fall of his collar. He learned to shape the latest fashions, though these he’d not been trained to cut.
He cut and styled and sewed dress shirts, plus-fours and best tweed shooting jackets. He indulged his whim for safari gear… one must keep up with the times.
But those times change. Few are the gentlemen now who come to him, unknown in this foreign land. He has his life, he has his wife… and his living earned by turning up legs, replacing buttons and zips.
I pass this colourful display of zips on my way to the shops. And walking around town with my camera, I couldn’t resist. The tailor generously allowed me to take the photo. I didn’t question him about his life. Whether the above is true for him or not, it is for many others.
#CCC62
Welcome to my weekly challenge—open to all—just for FUN, FUN, FUN
Here’s how it works:
Every Wednesday I post a photo (this week it’s that one above.)
You respond with something CREATIVE
Here are some suggestions:
You have plenty of scope and only two criteria:
If you post a link in the comments section of this post I’ll be able to find it
If you include Crimson’s Creative Challenge as a heading, WP Search will find it (theory)
by ‘Searching’ in the WP Reader (fingers crossed)
Here’s wishing you inspirational explosions. And FUN.
Image by Couleur on pixabay
I am an avid reader
I eat books as another eats a feast
Though wary I am of the English Bard
His Complete Works is a beast
On Christyesque Whodunnits I like to snack
Thrillers and Political Espionage might fill the crack
That starts to gape between the heftier courses
Historical… hysterical: I’m picky about the sources
In Romance – contemporary, gothic – I don’t exalt
But must sprinkle thoroughly with plenty of salt
And Sci-fi now reminds me over much
Of those days when I was told to eat my greens
Those long-gone days – my teens
No, Fantasy scripted with ingenious brainpower
that’s what I like most to devour
108 words written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Devour
Gorky Park, Minsk: Image by Giovanni Scarpari on Google Maps
Bronimir sat upon the table, not his usual place at all. He sat between a yeasty loaf that made his clay mouth drool and the smallest imaginable dish of salt. His family wanted something of him, and he knew what it was. Yet he’d do nothing until they asked.
Same as he’d waited when the Krivici hammered them from the north… and when Rurik’s Rus from out the west tried to trample on their toes… and all that trouble with the Varvags exacting tribute. Then the Baltic Lithuanians… and the Poles… and the Russian occupation (how many times was that?); and the French and the German. But today’s trouble was closer to home. Young Čestmír had been found in compromising situation with the golden-haired Sveta next door.
Domovoy that he was, Bronimir must sweeten the air. Yet again. But not before they asked him and gave him bread and salt.
149 words written for What Pegman Saw: Minsk, Belarus
image from Wikipedia, public domain
Domovoy was a family god in the form of a baked-clay man; his usual place was in a niche beside the door.
He was loyal to his family throughout the generations and remained in residence with them whenever and wherever they moved.
I like puffballs. They’re easy to identify. And unlike the wood-eating variety of fungi, they tend to cluster in grassy places… where they’re easy to see!
photo taken on the way to Tyrell’s wood: 8th Oct 2019
Monochrome: 31st Dec 2019
I confess I did tweak the photo. Those bins were very dark green. Otherwise, the photo captures another grey day in Great Yarmouth. And it had begun with dazzling sun!
See here for a list of titles for Maria’s Antonia’s #2020picoftheweek challenge.
