Forgotten to Bloom

Forgotten to Bloom

Every morning the flowers in the meadow raised their heads. I watched them from the riverbank as a scirocco licked my bare legs and arms, the birds and the bees, too.

Summer lasted longer than normal; each new year the same. Still the flowers clasped shut unwilling to colourise my little corner of the planet. Still I waited. We all waited.

The first snows of a late winter happened overnight. I stepped out into a world of freckled frosts and individual snowflakes. The flowers, at last, cold and confused, had bloomed.

They died the same day as confused by man’s earth as us all.

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The Rustling

The Rustling

They attacked with banging guns and booming rockets, an unnecessary commotion, striking as though we were leaves on an autumn tree awaiting winter winds. Perhaps we were in our russet way?

Fall, some called it, the time when one generation made room for the next. Whether or not the giant oak wished it, all it had nurtured, its beloved children, were expunged.

We fell tumbling to the ground in swamped screams. They heard us though. Everyone heard us. And like the tree that bore us, our country, we’d be reborn. For leaves die in silence but their rustling echoes forever.

Feathered

Author’s Note: As you all know, I have a memory like a sieve. I’ve been turfing out some old writing, the following being one of them. I have no idea when or why I wrote it, but it seemed a pity to waste. I hope you enjoy.

Feathered

I flew between ancient oaks skimming their acorns with my wingtips. I hoped they might tinkle like the bell in the old church, but they didn’t.

Out of the canopy and into a cobalt sky twisting and looping with the sheer joy of freedom, I sped unafraid, free. If this was a dream, then I’d dream it forever. If this was perfection, then I lived it through joy. I was born on the wing, born to fly. Nothing would take away my pleasure.

The pain came swift and stinging like two squadrons of wasps at my shoulders. Darkness took me, the blue sky gone.

I woke in a nest made of twigs, my feathers shorn, an aquiline face looming. Had I dreamt myself a man who wished himself a bird, or a bird who’d forgotten himself a man? And as a shadow fell and a scimitar beak loomed with cruel intentions, did it matter?

The End

50 Word Stories – Trashed Tales

She ran between the raindrops like a mouse who’d lost its umbrella. Flitting from flower to flower, mushroom to mushroom, upturned coffee cup to empty packet of crisps, she wept through the ancient forest. Why? Because even the little folk now know us, and that’s enough to make anyone despair.

My Review of Breaking Into The Light: Dark Fey (Book 3)

I don’t usually post any book reviews to WordPress, but as seen as the book was by my pal who you will all know, I thought I would. If anyone out there is looking to read a good fantasy series, look no further than Dark Fey.

Breaking Into The Light: Dark Fey (Book 3)

A sumptuous end to a sumptuous series.

Breaking into the Light: Dark Fey (Book 3)

The end of a trilogy can either come as the end of a long haul or a flash of brilliance over too soon. This book was most definitely the latter.

A sumptuous end to a sumptuous series, Morgan guides the reader through her fantastical creation with aplomb and immerses them in the outcome. Never predictable, though one always has their fingers crossed for their literary favourites, the story has and continued to evolve right to the end. Plus, as an already favourite character, I was anxious to see what happened to Gairynzvl most of all and was not left disappointed.

I understand this is the last book in the series but would revisit it or any future works based in the Fey’s timelines with delight. Five stars!


Thank you for reading

Richard