The wire grass nipped and chewed to ground level, the sheep lightfoot bounce on the bright lit slopes. Baas on the baize. Dogs arrive.
Moments
Name tags
We sewed name tags in all my dad’s clothes. But eventually he forgot who he was.
Autumn arrived on Poets’ Day
Autumn arrived on Poets’ Day. Some skipped through leaves to the skirl of the pipes, kicking them high in the air. Some foresaw the bleakness of winter. The cold and grey in the cast of their eyes steeled the yellow and blue. Until a fun colleague dropped red leaves on their head and pinched their cheeks for summer.
The reds and the blues had been fighting forever
The reds and the blues had been fighting forever. But it could have been the greens and the yellows. Or the blacks and the whites.
Now the stalemate, the exhaustion, had to become a peace, a peace that carried forward, a peace of people working together and looking to the future.
Everyone agreed until they talked about symbols. Red and blue striped skins? Gentle slanting flashes, colour on colour? Or a gradual shading of red and blue along the years until skins reflected a shared understanding?
Then the scratching began again.
Can I touch your dog’s ears?
“Excuse me, but can I touch your dog? Would you mind? Would he? It’s the ears you see, I can’t get the ears.”
Owners of greyhounds in the north of the town are advised that they may be approached by a polite elderly man who asks if he can touch their dogs’ ears. If given permission, he then closes his eyes, touches the ears and walks swiftly away, smiling and looking at his hands. Police say that there is currently no cause for alarm.
At home in his workshop, Malcolm feels the essence of the dog in his fingers, through his chisel, as it bites into the wood. This time the dog in his mind, in his fingers, will emerge.
Published on FlashFlood, the National Flash-Fiction Day journal, http://flashfloodjournal.blogspot.co.uk/ 17 April 2015
Airport reading, listening, writing
I could win a family break in Fuerteventura. I could learn to fear the future if the break-up comes. I could unzip some synapses with some snappy sudoku – or I could just write down the words that other people are saying.
I only called him to say goodbye –
She was locked in the cubicle. She was angry –
If it happens again, I’m not leaving –
If the knife lands on its blade, you’re in trouble. Or on your foot –
Turn it down.
Take it off.
Check it in.
Wipe it up.
But the winter break in Fuerteventura looks very attractive. Especially if I get a family to go with.
The thunder landed
It almost seemed that the fireworks over the night-black sea called the lightning. It flashed white and forked and curved and split and hissing hit the sea.
Then, the time for a breath that nobody took, the thunder rolled in across the flattened waves and shook the first, steep-fronted, houses.
The thunder landed on the roof like a rockslide. The now-dead light bulb swung as the flash through the shutters side-shadowed our faces.
On the way home from the baker’s
Days in Italy: 4
Vipers seen: 1
Distance from foot (cm): 3
Screams (high-pitched, drawn out): 1
Warm doughnuts in air: 6
Sympathy: 0
Sonday
Monday, Tuesday, Winsday, Thrusday.
Freeday.
Sitterday.
Sonday. The day when he finally visits. When he – who is he? Where has he gone?
Airport 9 a.m.
Kilts and backpacks and Scotland shirts.
Anticipation and beer.
Cancelled flight tourists swoop round airport staff.
Some tears.
