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Showing posts from July, 2018

A Summer Storm

          The air smelled sweet on the breeze, as it slipped between branches and under leaves.  Two butterflies danced around each other in delighted loops.  And the clouds, what there were of them, were small and white, puffy and without a trace of rain.            Such perfection was not to be, for it was not long before a gust of wind came from the South and blew the butterflies apart.             A sound crumbled in the air and echoed in the distance.   Thunder.   And then came the wind in great big bellows blowing through the golden fields that were soon covered in a thick gray sky.   Thunder again, and this time the lightening cut, bright white and vibrant against the backdrop of dark, dismal clouds.             The first drops were heavy, laden with the weight of a hundred tears.   They splashed against dust.                This was the third sign of what was to come, and it was then that the butterflies headed it, fleeing desperately for some dry hollow.   An

The Friendly Ogre

     A boy passed a flat smooth stone to another, his compatriot in the crime of disturbing a pristinely calm surface of lake water that lay on the edge of a thick wood.             'It's perfect!' exclaimed the other, taking the stone.  Feeling the smoothness between his fingers, he worked the stone into his hand until it sat just right, and then whipped it out away from him.            As it danced across the water, they counted.                Five… no, six small dents bent the water, sending rings of ripples.             ‘Well done, Pen!’ said the first boy, marveling at his friend’s great feat.             ‘Jolly good stone,’ brushed off Pen, but his face held a delighted grin as both boys bent to search for another perfect stone.                It was only a matter of seconds, however, before they both stood up ramrod straight.  For, all at once, a sound came echoing out of the wood, loud enough to send echoes beaming across the lake.   

Mrs. Francis Reveals a Secret...

(Part II of Kit and the Magical House)             ‘Please, call me Mrs. Francis, dear,’ said Mrs. Francis sitting down on a very lovely embroidered cushion that sat on a wooden rocking chair by the fire, and gesturing to Kit to do the same in a very comfy armchair that had two red cushions. ‘I’m Kit,’ said Kit in a small voice that was rather unlike herself.   But a house had just dried her clothes, and she was feeling slightly unsettled. ‘Well, now, Kit, that’s a delightful name.   Short for something, I’ll bet.   And, I’ll bet, you have a very good story about why you’re here, my dear.  I would love to hear it,’ Mrs. Francis said as she smiled encouragingly. How did she know, thought Kit?   But it didn’t really matter.   She had long desired to unburden herself about the horrible Mrs. Hendricks, and, perking up with the delight of scathingly reporting on her enemy, she took a fortifying swallow of cocoa from the cup that sat steaming alongside the table at her arm and set t