BuntyPlumchip
They are usually around. closed, open or maybe ajar. Sometimes locked. They come from or go to. A bit like minds, really.
The etiquette of a time and a place can be a minefield of what is polite and what is not. In one place a smile is a friendly response, in others viewed as a baring of teeth, either anxiously or aggressively.
The aeroplane looked like a space-ship, umlike any sky-borne object they had ever seen. It seemed to hover above the street, turning the snowflakes into a swirling vortex. Some said it was extra terrestrial, others that it was a Stealth on a secret test flight.
The blacksmith was not busy with horseshoes, so in his quiet times he made the most fabulous sculptures out of wrought iron. The artisan became artist.
He had been a great fan of Dungeons and Dragons, so much so that he became a re-enactor, and rehashed the major battles of the English Civil War, complete with bruises and the odd broken limb.
The raven perched on the fence preening its blacker than black feathers. The sun dappled its back through the oak tree leaves and the raven gleamed irridescent. Jenny said it was so black it was blue, like the purple ink of manuscripts..
The fox cubs play fighting in the meadow, in the shade of the chicken coop. Vixen waits her chance to procure dinner. Practice makes perfect.
Dark green foliage forms tunnels over holloways. Reflections of oak and ash ripple on thoughts, soothe the soul into dreamscapes.
The colours of nostalgia , burnt shades of old illustrations of children's books, give the warmth of blankets on a winter's evening.
writing since 2013 · 20 entries · 20 days shown up
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richleastonesreflectionsoakthoughtsravenblackpurplegreatcivilothersheidieyeswordpepper