What’s happened to that pond? It was fine last time I looked. Who broke the edges? And who messed with the middle? There’s still a little fountain, and it’s still working, although it’s a bit wonky.
It looks like ice, but it can’t be, since it’s spring. Proper spring now. Most odd. I shall have to sit on my haunches and squat down. Then I can peer and look more closely too. Ah, that’s much better.
There have never been fish there, but something is moving. Lots of them in fact. Tadpoles, my children! ‘Ribbit, ribbit, it’s me, ribbit, ribbit!’
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Hysterical Non-Fiction Word Count: 100
a new brood, that’s life these are guinea fowls, cheeky; here’s the family there’s mom, dad, aunt and uncle and here’s the best one – young’un!
~~ “Tame birds sing of freedom. Wild birds fly.” John Lennon ~~
a new guinea fowl learns to chatter and squawk, a lot he’s bigger each day and now he’s a teenager such fun we’re having, we’ll wave
~~~
For Colleen Chesebro‘s TankaTuesday #46 — 6 January 2026, where this week’s host Willow Willer’s invitation is to write syllabic poetry in the form of a puente [using a quote as a three-stanza poem’s bridge]. The selected quote’s topic is to be the writer’s choice. On the topic(s) of ‘new beginnings for the new year or your life.‘
It seemed that everyone had now decided that those wonderful gems were real, as Mr Cushing began to hum the theme song, ‘Diamonds Are Forever’, while The Old One was grinning as he said, ‘I was an extra in that one, I was just behind Sammy Davis Jr. who was a casino player,’ – ‘how extraordinary,’ said Mr Cushing as he stopped humming and his eyebrows shot up for a moment.
‘Shirley Bassey,’ yelled the red-headed woman, ‘I saw her on King Street, Manchester (that was a long time ago), she’s small… just like me,’ as she smiled with glee.’ *
The two gargoyles waddled to the far end of the shed to make sure that the great big doors would open; ‘we can do it, and we won’t need to force it, we are sure.’ So they heaved and hoed, and it opened just enough, and they both grinned since they could see a useful gate quite near: ‘all we need now are those pretty diamonds,’ as they waddled back.
‘Not so fast,’ said Inspector Clouseau, as he entered the shed, ‘Em off my pheune and I’m just waiting for back up,’ as he waved his gun and held up his truncheon.
Now things became complicated since several actions occurred at the same time: someone ran to turn off the main switch; various people grabbed something, hoping it were some diamonds on that particular shelf; and the last piece of the jigsaw, when it was light again, a black panther appeared.
Dad was a happy driver, and I could sit next to him now. ‘Clunk click every trip’ as we said at the same time.
We arrived at a kiosk by the park. Dad parked his almost new car – a navy-colour Hillman Minx. I had got out, and I hurried over there. There was no-one around, but there were lots of flyers. ‘I’m going to take one of each.’
Dad had been reading his newspaper while he waited for me. Then we strolled around the park, and I had my new camera. I clicked, and clicked again. It was such fun.
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Non-Fiction Word Count: 100
A moment later, Inspector Clouseau said, ‘em stepping out with my pheune,’ (meaning a phone, they gathered), he popped back to say, ‘don’t move.’
The red-headed woman stared after Clouseau, as he left the shed and closed it firmly; she then stared at all her friends, she wondered what might happen, and she wondered who would speak first, while she began to fidget a bit.
It was Francis who spoke: ‘Today is going to be a milestone,’ he said gravely, as he looked around and nobody else spoke, as that last shed seemed to echo around that particular shelf, ‘we will need a strategy, a plan and a plot no doubt, we will need to set out some rules, as well.’
‘Hold on,’ said Joan, ‘how do we know all those diamonds are real, kosher, genuine… you know what I’m saying,’ – ‘real I’m sure,’ grinned Scatty, ‘although, legitimate is a completely different kettle of fish,’ – then The Old One said, ‘sorry, why are we talking about fish again?’ – and then Mr Cushing said, ‘yes, why are we talking about fish, surely we were talking about escargots?’
Meanwhile, one of the gargoyles muttered, ‘they’ve lost the plot,’ as the two of them edged closer to that particular shelf, they looked at each other and grinned, then they looked back at those bright and beautiful diamonds.
The two of them glanced to the far end of the shed, and then they looked at the main electrical fuse just beyond, they both winked.
A railway, a railway! The two boys smiled happily.
How fun it is to ride on a train, and they could take their bikes with them.
Only a short trip, but that was fine, always lucky to be on holiday, as they grinned again.
~~~~~
Image credit: Tobias Reich@Unsplash
This image shows a scene from a railway station. The platform on the photographer’s side is empty, and you can see a train on the opposite side, leaving, engulfed in smoke/fog.
That dining room wasn’t used anymore. It’s a beautiful table, mahogany, and still pristine since it’s usually covered up. She walked around it, slowly. Almost reverently. And then she stopped at the top of the table. There were so many memories.
With her eyes shut she thought about what she’d done. A little girl, wearing a pretty dress for Christmas. And all those grown-ups.
She flashed a thought. Opening her eyes. Should she look at that covered up mirror? Would she dare? But no. Too many ghosts still here.
She’s going to leave forever. There’s just one thing she’ll take…
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Fiction Word Count: 100
luna's on line 