She Stepped Lightly...

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She stepped lightly onto the breath of the west wind. Rising higher in the blue light, ribbons of sunlight and cool clouds caressed her, streaming out towards the sea birds as they twisted up and out of the waves. They soon reached her, their wings mimicking the roll of the air around her, and together they danced towards the twinkling lights, towards the flames that had called them into the night.

The Sound Of Trees...

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The sound of trees, now so lost in the hot, still breath of summer, nevertheless broke through the surface of the old woman's mind and memory. Sitting still and dark, along the island's shoreline, they sweltered in the heat and in the relentless tumult of her drowning, sad thoughts. The water they guarded, so loyally, held so many treasures. So many hearts. So many beloved hands and eyes and kind deeds now held fast and down. Now held away from her, forever.

The Old World Had Sunk...

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The old world had sunk beneath the snow. All that remained hung on black boughs - golden leaves, crisp and curled, and bright baubles of fresh flakes, glinting in the moon-glow. The rider had travelled far that night, a slow procession beneath the beams of moon and the vast, dark woodland. Muffled echos, crunch and thump - the hooves moved along the white path. Soon they both saw horizon. Soon they were at the meeting place. They waited.

It Must Be Near Night Now...

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It must be near night now. But the sky had looked near night all day, the sun had wandered and let billowing, breaking breath - such miserable sighs - rise and unwind themselves across the rooftops. Not fearing night, or the grey unwieldy sky, I saw her venture out. Down the path towards the holloway. Black bracken rising as the path sunk ever lower. Once, she looked back at me.

Into The Storm Light...

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Into the storm light she turned her head. Sodden, twisting clouds raced around her vision, bringing with them a silence in the air. The birds had stopped singing, yet she took a breath. She inhaled the vapour, separating scents of blue cloud, hot mist and the earth last seen between petals. She exhaled - lost songs, unfurling moist breath of colour, blooming. The air cracked.

The World Woke To A Glimmer...

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The world woke to a glimmer of swift shadow, dancing and drawing down the moonlight. The wolves of the forest had leapt from their bones, ghostly figures that ran effortlessly amongst the trees. The pine needles shivered gently as they passed. The wolves could still be heard, their murmuring whistles and calls wrapping around the house, clawing through the walls. She woke. She listened. She cracked the door ajar and greeted them. New friends, new dancing partners.

Pale, In The Moonlight...

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Pale, in the moonlight, her form glows between the break in branches. Feathered leaves, green-grey in the dying light, flit and flicker as her hands roll amongst them. Light, and soft, the first unfurls of spring are welcoming. Drift, caress, sleep. The leaves roll and grow, curling closer. They spiral arms, hearts, minds.

They Unknitted From The Ground...

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They unknitted from the ground. Unleashed from ivy-vine, hands tore out of the earth and grasped at the cool spring air. Their tips felt the sun, the sun that was rising grey-green amongst weed and flowerbed. The warmth prickled, flesh renewed, the hands started to soften and glow.

Gosh, a bit dark to start out with again, but that's what arrived so there we are!

PS. Thank you, Paula, for reminding me to get writing again!

For other budding writers in lockdown, do check out these Tips & Exercises over on London Lit Lab!