Small Stone – 4th Dec 2014

Creased-white hands circle the plastic cup, steam rising into the cold damp air. Matching scarf and hat, woollen, fir trees, Christmas is due soon. “All right, mate? What’s it to be?” I can’t decide whether to go for the baking potatoes or the butternut squash. I settle on an apple strudel from the stall next door. And a small focaccia. I am nothing if not cosmopolitan.

A trip to the market.

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Small Stone – 2nd Dec 2014

A solitary bird, a crow.
My dog, Golden Retriever.
Bird hops, jumps, comes near.
Dog sniffs, investigates.

She wants to play.
It doesn’t.
She barks.
It flies.

A solitary crow, sitting on a breakwater.
Watching. 

It’s the first time I’ve seen a bird actually deliberately bait her. As soon as she started barking, off it flew. But only to a breakwater, where it watched from a safe distance until we had passed.

NaNo+ continues, with over 1,000 words yesterday, taking our main characters closer to their destiny.

 

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Mindful Writing

Strong sea forces have begun the long shore drift, moving tons of sand to heaven-knows-where, and exposing bases of rusting metal, rotting wood and crumbling concrete. How will these misshapen and broken objects protect our houses, our possessions, our families? But somehow, they do. The TV shows other areas, where the sea has broken through inadequate defences, and amongst the feel-good stories of pets rescued and Dunkirk spirit, are sad faces, gazing at ruined homes.

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