She Stepped Lightly...

(image source)

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...

(image source)

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...

(image source)

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...

(image source)

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...

(image source)

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...

(image source)

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...

(image source)

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...

(image source)

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!

Light Comes In The Summer...

(image source)

Light comes in the summer with a breath as soft as chalk, bewitching the night into a colourful dance of haze and vapour, sinking a glowing palette into the land. It plays across the rocks and foam, brightening irises and running along the needle tips of beachgrass. We feel our feet cut through the leaves, grit and sand caught between our toes like a harvest of burnt amber. Tawny, gold flecks and then the lavender liquid sea - a coast of colours seep and flash around our eyes. The catch is in - slipping bodies, their fins decked in silver caught from the moon that now sits yellow, yellow and half-remembered in the closing clouds.

In From The Shadows...

(image source)

In from the shadows, from the dying lustre of the trees and the lid of advancing night he came forward from the edge of the wood. Tail embracing the last of the sun's grey glimmer he made his way towards the lantern. The last meeting place, the last warm light that hung on the edge of all things.

Along The Wall Sat Scissors...

(image source)

Along the wall sat scissors, ready for the touch of tailor's fingers. Worn by use, their black handles had softened and folded into different shapes which flew snaking shadows up the wall. In the lantern light they hissed and flickered, their mouths ready to lick and sting.

The Snowbells Ring Throughout The Endless Night...

(image source)

The snowbells ring throughout the endless night. Shaking their stark, blistering white light across the frozen fields, these little bell-flowers help light the way for the night travellers who search out for spring's new song. When the south starts to warm, after the deepest chill of winter, the land exhales a wistful air that sends itself reeling towards any remaining cold and ice, its determination gathering speed as it melts all in its path. The north feels it coming, and the brave flowers that found their way out of the snowbanks reverberate and buzz with pleasure. They call out again and again to the wild, warming winds. Those that travel after them delight to see the snow fracturing on their path. Green fingers rise sharply from the clods to greet them, and they dance together as the world around them brightens.

Inside The Stack Lived A Little Lady...

(image source)

Inside the stack lived a little lady made of words. Letters ran across her skin, her eyelashes beat with exclamations and her hair uncurled languorous descriptions of the stories her heart whispered in the night. The walls of her home were faded papers, histories and folktales that lingered on the page like shadows. Whether from sad thoughts or moments of delight, the tears she shed were made of blackest ink. They splashed around her and broke into an alphabet, the tiny characters ran around and banded together, weaving themselves into new yarns of extraordinary adventure.

. . . 

Happy Birthday to my book-loving friend, the lovely Amy in Wonderland! (& PS. Happy World Book Day!)

In Winter The World Falls Away...

(image source)

In winter the world falls away in sheets of colour. And shadows stick themselves to trees, grey and dark they reach out forever towards the slate of sky; ink upon a broken board. The hills are still, and lifeless. Winds roll over them, moving nothing. There are no eyes here, they went away long ago. There is no witness, the swans have ceased their singing.

A World Away

(image source)

A world away, and the sea still knocked against the arching stone pier that guarded the village. Gulls twisted themselves between sun and spray, ricocheting like rounds of hail among the rooftops. The residents within sighed and didn't notice that their days split apart - some hunkered, with knitted brows and pinched lips, determined gleams concentrating in their eyes; while others found their way towards the black windows and looked out at the liquid horizon, their hearts melting like mist that waits to see the sun.

SaveSave

The Cloth Closed Her Eyes

(image source)

The cloth closed her eyes like liquid ensnaring a scorched surface. It hid the dreams that darted under the lashes, all were smoke and shadow, thoughts that had run until they burned, but now lived on emitting the low hum of fading embers, exhaling the vaporous mild memories of luminous experience.

SaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSave

The Letter The Dear Girl Had Sent...

(image source)

The letter the dear girl had sent was a long, exquisite tale of social conquest: an evening party had been attended, a viperous acquaintance had attempted to inflict a mortal wound upon a romance but the girl had triumphed, her intended had appeared quite by chance at the party, and with eyes for no one but her.

There, In The Corner...

(image source)

There, in the corner, stood three misshapen chairs. Made of wood-knots and found fragments, some old hands had once fastened them together in a likeness of themselves and the chairs took on the demeanour of palm-cups, ready to hold whatever set upon them. They had lived a long time in this pale room, which only ever seemed to shine with a soft, wintry light. The people, their minds in knots and fragments, would come and go, forever changing, they left fingerprints of sky-ice.

The Collection Featured An Odd Assortment...

(image source)

The collection featured an odd assortment of spindly, dry foliage. The leaves had sprouted from the top of long, thin stalks which sat in their own small space upon the table. Some rested in small vases, others sat upon their own dehydrated bulbs and roots which had been plucked from the ground whole. Each herb or flower had lost its particular enchantment, their spells had drained as they dried, lost to the shadows in the soil.

The Words Passed

(image source)

The words passed across the tiny distance between them, cocooned in the warmth of breath. They spoke in a fractured daze, of the long evening, the days coming, and the years it had been since they last met.