Skip to main content

Posts

The passage of time

Two dandelions grow next to each other in a meadow.   They look out over the flowers and bees, and in the distance, a village.   On sunny days, people stroll past, children play in the field, and the dandelions feel that all is well.   When it rains, they pull in their yellow petals and huddle closer together whilst myriad insects cluster under the dandelions for shelter. One day, although the sun is shining, one of the dandelions hasn’t unfurled their yellow petals.   Something feels different.   She reluctantly tells her neighbour that she has noticed a grey petal amongst the yellow and it scares her.   The neighbour looks over at her friend and reassures her she too has strange grey petals but that it is nothing to be afraid of.   This must be what happens to dandelions.   Now, they can either stay huddled up feeling scared or they can unfurl the rest of their bright yellow manes and welcome the sunshine and the insects in their meadow. Ove...
Recent posts

Tired of Waiting

Jared didn’t like waiting.   It made him feel awkward and restless.   He intense need to control everything meant that now he had to wait, it really grated. His dislike of waiting didn’t stem from a false sense of privilege as it did for others, but rather a fear of the unknown.   A ‘what happens if’ was something he dreaded. He tugged at the loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt, then looked at his newly polished shoes.   He glanced around the lobby but finding nothing distracting enough, turned his attention to the magazines piled in front of him.   He flicked through the pages impatiently, unable to find anything interesting enough. The lift doors opened, surprising Jared.   Looking up hopefully, he saw a small round woman pushing a cleaning cart shuffle out.   Her black hair was flecked with grey and her blue checked tunic looked grubby.   Jared smiled politely at the woman as she pushed her cart towards him.   She was alr...

Where do flies go when it rains?

The announcement was made on a Friday evening, which Lucy thought was particularly short-sighted since no one would be able to make any changes over the weekend anyway.   Why not just wait until Monday?   When the announcement was made, Lucy had been out walking so her husband informed her when she got home.   “At least the weather is still on our side”, he’d said optimistically.   Lucy had only nodded as she pulled off her fatigued walking boots and dusted the stray pine needles from her jumper.   “I didn’t see anyone in the forest today”, she added. That evening, she had changed into her favourite comfy trousers and sat with her husband in front of the fire.   “What are you reading?”. “Diary of a plague year”, she had giggled. The next announcement followed on Tuesday, which Lucy half-cursorily noticed before returning her focus to the tired late afternoon sunshine reflecting off the mirror.   Her gaze drifted to her resting wal...

Never judge a book...

Yvonne was quietly spoken.   It was hard to tell if she had always been that way or if her ten years in a library had somehow forced her voice into retreat.   From the other side of the desk, I could see her twiddling the chain of the glasses hung around her neck and biting her lip and she flitted through the pages of the catalogue that lay in front of her.   Her powder pink cardigan betrayed no sign of age although I know it had been worn every week for as long as I could remember.    As a man approached the service counter, Yvonne seemed to shrink somehow; her body becoming smaller.   She walked silently over to the desk and lifted her head to the man, but not her eyes. “Would you recommend this book?” Avoiding his gaze, she glanced at the front cover and smiled to herself.   The man didn’t seem to notice.   “Absolutely sir.   I believe it has been very well received.” Satisfied, he nodded, took the book from the counter and tur...

Character Sketch

He is not tall.   His thick grey hair, once blonde, shows no sign of receding and although the colour has changed, he styles it in the same way he has for years. He still maintains that his mother gave him the best haircuts.   His eyes are bright blue, the wrinkles that surround them a testament to the years of pleasure and happiness he has enjoyed.   He has a deep dimple on one cheek, which sits determinedly there even when he is not smiling.   He wears his clothes well; well-fitting and well looked after.   He looks out over the lecturn at the students and wonders, as he does every year, how they could be so young.   As he unpacks his briefcase and prepares to begin, that familiar feeling of nervous excitement rushes through him.   He now thrives on it although it has taken him a long time to realise the difference between fear and anticipation. The lecture hall din turns to a subdued hush as he begins to speak.   His voice is clear an...