Was it just a story? I think not. It was real. Very real. But perhaps just use a beautiful dream? That would work better.
She would walk into the lounge. She would open the double doors into the garden, and then to the still warm pool. Such a treat! She would sit on the wall, looking at the gorgeous sunset, between the dark waters and the vivid sky. She would remove a pretty feather to touch it and smooth it. Then she would walk back again. Closing the double doors.
She would lay down to sleep again. Sleep on… forever.
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: HistoricalFiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) was in her tiny apartment, she’d finally finished her crossword in her folded broadsheet newspaper, noticing that she had ink on both hands.
She mused as she wandered into her kitchen, while she cleaned her hands, and then brewed some more coffee; she had many diverse tastes and interests, in fact, she always had, although her favourite hobbies were her writing and reading.
A few minutes later she brought her coffee into the living room, putting it on the coffee table where she picked up her latest book – The Weight of Snow and Regret by Elizabeth Gauffreau.*
She held the book unopened for a moment: the front cover was beautiful, like a picture of snow – the perfect time to read in the winter, the book itself was quite heavy since there are many wonderful words, so she opened the book, removing her bookmark – she’d had this for years, a little cheshire cat in metal, she put it down – now it was time to read.
La Raconteuse was engrossed in her book apart from playing the CD by Lightnin’ Hopkins, since he was in that book; she continued to read for more than an hour, but now she was hungry.
It was almost lunch-time as she ventured out into the wintry day, it looked like it would snow soon, as she dodged the cars and taxis as she walked across the streets; at least it’ll be warm in the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, as she quickened her step.
She’s a busy lady! She’s beautiful, She’s clever, She’s making a nest.
She weaves, and weaves, Delicate but strong, She continues to weave, Until she’s happy.
She’ll finds some food, More than she needs, But she’ll keep it for later, Now she’ll doze for a while.
A few days later, She’s even busier, She’s making more silk, It will be her nursery.
Do you know her? I’m sure you’ve guessed… She’s more than just a spider, She’s a lucky lady!
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Image credit: Doncoombez @Unsplash
In this image we can see branches of a pine tree. There is an intricate spider web woven between two of the branches. The background is blurry, but the golden light suggests a forest or garden setting.
‘You are so nosy, aren’t you.’ ‘What, me?’ ‘Of course you are.’ She snickered. ‘Me as well.’ The two of them continued to peer from their upstairs window.
‘Did you see that?’ ‘No. Didn’t see anything.’ ‘But you must have done.’ ‘Why? I can’t see everything at the same time. I’d been looking in the other direction, and on the ground. We usually see that beautiful cat who walks with that nice man.’
‘Ah there they are.’ ‘I wonder what they saw.’ ‘You see I saw a dumpster, but that’s gone now, but I bet that cat enjoyed seeing that!’
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: HistoricalFiction Word Count: 100
a veil of mystery whatever can be revealed something hides its face the waves draw back and forward a pinnacle will fly out
“Mysteries are feminine; they like to veil themselves but still want to be seen and divined.” Karl Wilhelm Friedrich Schlegel
my moon is displayed so bright – full of energy yet the veil pulls down such a strange conundrum dear moon, come back again… please
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Written in response to this week’sTanka Challenge hosted by Yvette M. Calleiro Yvette has chosen the word veil. There are several definitions for veil. Choose whichever version of the word that speaks to you, and write a syllabic poem of your choosing.
What an interesting time the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) and Reena had, and they were hoping that both of them could meet again, and soon, especially since the usual suspects – meaning the Proprietors (plus a few hangers on – the clever ones) might learn a little bit of business between all of them, since Reena has great acumen.
La Raconteuse mused to herself as she crossed the street, as she glanced at someone’s newspaper – that date: 5th November – it was bonfire night; not that many people in the city would even know anything about it, but for her, she would always remember what happened since she originally came from the UK.
Ah yes, Guy Fawkes, such an important time and date (for us); she thought for a moment, this is the way it goes:
“Remember, remember the 5th of November, Gunpowder, treason and plot; I know of no reason Why the gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot!”
La Raconteuse was almost into the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, although she was still muttering to herself; she’d almost collided with the tall, thin man and the Gatekeeper, who were about to smoke together by the steps, as they each opened a flame on their exquisite zippos.
Just inside Tom grinned, ‘look what I’ve made – it’s almost a sparkler,’– he also came from the UK – as he lit two matches on a tiny cake, ‘we will enjoy, won’t we,’ as they both blew the two matches out; ‘let’s remember Guy Fawkes… in a good way!’
that is no such thing as ‘just’ a cat – ‘just’ a cat? definitely not.
she’s always regal, pretty, beautiful – of course, and she’ll stare, and stare.
what is she thinking? we will never really know, she’s just amazing!
could we pry? nope, definitely not.
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Image credit: Haoli Chen @Unsplash
A white and fawn cat is hiding behind a partially open curtain hanging on a window. Through the window we can see green trees. The cat is also watching the trees.
The two boys had been mooching. ‘Hold on.’ He stopped and pointed. ‘Oh, I see. Interesting.’ They looked at each other, then jumped over the hedge.
‘Ooh, a painting,’ as he peered at it.’ ‘It’s a bit dreary.’ ‘Here, there’s some sticky paints on the easel.’ ‘We could jazz it up a bit.’
Both of them got to business. ‘This looks better. More colour.’ ‘Shall I add an animal?’
Then a man appeared. ‘Oi! He strode toward them. He was wearing a beret! He glared. He walked around. And then he said: ‘Hmm, that’s actually better now, especially that kangaroo.’
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: HistoricalFiction Word Count: 100
luna's on line 