Nuclear Winter

Detonate The world is frozen, and the novelty of snow has not yet worn off, that strange, three dimensional crunch as the boy takes each step onto its surface. Nor the way it refuses to melt in his ungloved hand making him wonder if his skin is frozen and he doesn’t realise it.   The sun is not…

Phantom Limbs

Clockwork bees, hedgehogs and heartbeats are the metronome that defines the slow days and wearying nights. The days are long and hot, sunflowers droop in the summer heat, and daily trips to the forest provide a place to escape from the oppressive heat, the volume of the television and the fragile tension as the spectre…

How to Remember

Adrift Tobacco jostles with wheat fields crisp green vineyards run in parallel lines across the first tentative hills. A village, clustered around a church steeple, -space- then another village.   Low footpaths embedded with limestone gravel Grass – darker green and shimmering everywhere – can this be home to a long distant stranger Thin narrow valleys winding up…

A Chapel in the Grass

via Daily Prompt: Qualm Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. Dr. Seuss   This is the routine now, yet every day is a construct of tensions that remain fresh in your heart. The days are long now, filled with a silence that hovers between a cascading polyphasia and meditative calm. Whatever a…

Hibiscus

The trees are taller, but only a bit, I think. Then realise I am taller too but the garden is almost the same, yet something has changed — the Hibiscus is gone, as is my uncle who first showed me its flower, told me it lives for just one day. Now I wonder how a blossom achieves so much In a…

424 ways to reconcile with Eternity

via Daily Prompt: Temporary Step into the forest and see the little sign on front of the two towering pines that dominate this ruinous forest. It tells you that this forest was planted in 1911, lichen obscuring the flaking paint. Next to it a new plastic sign notes that the area is being closed due…

Fighting Storms

via Daily Prompt: Control From the window the sky is streaked with leaden amalgam of water and dust, the still air now replaced with gusts that push the trees into contortions, an unwilling ballerina each of them driven into new positions, no time for a warm up. Look across and realise that my umbrella is…

Successive Futures

via Daily Prompt: Apprentice The sky is an inky blue-black and the stars seem fringed with purple light. The air is icy until you get close to the kiln, where the smell of superheated rubber, stone and wax forms a strange cocktail of scent. I’m winding the centrifuge and my father is cutting pieces of…