Saturday 26 October 2013

The Beach

This is the result of a 150 word challenge which had to begin with "This is how.....".

This is how I came to swear I would never, ever, go back to that beach! It was late in the day and the summer sun was still giving off heat. I went down to a local beach; one which I didn’t frequent on a regular basis.

I shook out my towel and lay back in the sand, with a cliff looming high at my back.  A sandy lump needed spreading out under my back. Oh bother! I moved my towel to smooth out the sand.  The lump wouldn't go. A piece of seaweed was stuck in the sand. I pulled at the seaweed and jumped, as a small crab scuttled away. Laughing at myself, I pulled at the seaweed again.  My finger touched something slimy. Bloody jellyfish! Maybe I should move to a new spot. When the seaweed gave way, I screamed! A human eye was looking at me. 

Tuesday 22 October 2013

The Track

I walk along the twisted track.
The falling leaves touch my face with fingers of coolness.
I whistle a happy song.

I saw an object up ahead.
The brown camera I had left on my bed.
My sister was the only one to see. 

I picked it up; when I looked it was only a picture of me,
As I walked along the twisted track,
The falling leaves touching my face, the slight breeze lifting my hair.

I called her name “Alex?”
Was she here or round the bend?
My sister was doing just as I was.
The falling leaves would touch her face.
With fingers of coolness,
the slight breeze lifting her hair.

I looked left and right to wait her arrival.
I noticed a ribbon on a flowery bush.
On leaning over to pick it up, the ground gave way and I fell.

Down into the mine shaft. The breeze left at the top.
I landed with a heavy heart, to the bottom and heard a cry.
The falling leaves kept falling.
They were landing on my sister as they were landing on me.

She broke my fall as she called my name.
I turned and held her tight.
“Oh sister, oh sister I hurt so much” my special sister cried.
I whistled a song we sang as children. I watched her slowly die.

I walk along the twisted track.
The falling leaves touch my face, with fingers of coolness.
The slight breeze lifts my hair.
I whistle a sad, sad song.

Saturday 12 October 2013

The Three Stooges

The tall one they called Harry.
The old one’s name was Al.
The middle one was Maurie,
You could see they were all pals.

The grey one had a simple mind
That only thought one thing.
Come sit on my knee little girl,
I’ll show you who is king.

Harry was a quiet man
Whose words always rang true.
He had kind and thoughtful eyes
That helped when you felt blue.

Maurie like to play with whips.
He would try to have a crack.
When the girls would turn him down,
He’d go inside his shack.

All in all they were nice men
With tales from far and wide,
But listening to them all night long
nearly made me cry!

The Rose Society

I would like to give you a little insight into our local rose society and the characters who attend. The meetings are held on the second Friday night of each month.  Of course, this is at odds with the medication most of the members take. The second Friday night of the month just doesn't fit in with their schedules.  Keeping up with which tablet is taken daily, with food, without food, in the morning or at night, pink, blue, white or yellow, is a demanding schedule to track. Therefore, remembering when the meeting is on is difficult. Those who are lucky enough to still have their spouses have an advantage over the single members. Enough said.

The meetings are held in an historic town in a church hall; a church none of the members attend by the way.  This seems to be the norm for many rose societies’ gatherings. I struggle to understand. What is the link between roses and the almighty?  Is there something I am missing? I would rather not state my thoughts on this, but I will. As with bowling clubs, these meetings are another of heavens’ waiting rooms. I know, sad but true. Is this the link?

The majority of the members are older men and women with so much knowledge and wisety (made up word, thanks very much) among them. They know everything about the world and each other, just ask them. That is a false statement. No need to ask. Their insight is forced upon you like a strong wind, and let’s not gets started on those discussions.

As for the members themselves I will give you a brief outline. First off the rank is Fred and his lovely wife of 45 years, Jane. Fred is a large ruddy faced man who fancies he is a gift to all ladies, married or single. When arriving at a meeting, Fred will cross the room to welcome each woman with an almost too long bear hug. Jane has limited toleration for Fred’s behavior and copes with this by blaming the women and sending daggers from her eyes directly to  each huggee (another made up word, thanks).

Mavis is another larger than life member of the society with purple hair and bright red lipstick, which is painted outside the lines of her lips to falsely emphasise the lips that are shrinking away . Mavis holds the gavel; therefore no one has ever had the audacity to confront Mavis with the fact that purple hair and red lips together are an atrocity.

Violet sits in the corner by herself with her knitting. Violet speaks so quietly and when she does the other members, out of the common courtesy of which they abound, all stop speaking and lean forward to listen. Once Violet has stopped speaking, the members recommence talking at a volume you can hear over in the neighboring town.

Three sisters attend the meetings. In keeping with statistical norms, majority rules and if the other members of the society do not have their wits about them (and most don’t), these sisters will take over each meeting with members such as Violet fading into the background. Thank goodness for Mavis and her gavel.

Then there is Florence and Harry. Harry panders after Florence like a love sick puppy. Enough said.

The members have the option of bringing in a rose for judging to each meeting, with points allocated and an overall winner announced at the end of the year. The competition is fierce. This brings me to Daisy. Daisy sits next to a different member each meeting and will let her companion know in no uncertain terms, the winner of each night is a bitch if female or a bastard if male. Daisy’s thoughts are common knowledge and needless to say, members run to be seated either side by other members prior to Daisy taking a seat.

After the formalities and name calling is over, supper is served. This is an event no one would want to miss. Even though all have had dinner prior to attending the meeting, a gluttonous amount of food is laid out on the supper table.  There is enough food to feed the masses. This consists of homemade slices, sausage rolls and little sandwiches. The competition flows over from the roses to who made the best slice. In Daisy’s eyes, those who bring the most delectable offerings are also bitches.

This is an overall look inside a rose society meeting. I have only attended these meetings on a number of occasions. Even though I have a love of roses, I am not ready to be in the waiting room.

This short story is dedicated to Jane McGrath. A story well known in Australia, Jane and Glenn McGrath’s much-publicised experience with breast cancer led to the formation of what has become one of Australia’s most respected and recognised charities, the McGrath Foundation. Jane, a loved mother and wife, lost her life to breast cancer. 1966 - 2008

Thursday 10 October 2013

Cali and the River

It was after lunchtime when Cali arrived at her destination. The trip had taken two hours and the road was good. Great, thought Cali.  No holes in the gravel road.  The trees lining either side of the road, cast motley shadows making the holes hard to see.  Pooh to that, thought Cali, much better this time!  This trip was smoother, though no less dusty. When Cali opened the boot of her car the interior and all the contents were covered in brown dust. Oh well, not to worry. Cali was happy whilst unpacking her car and soaked up the quiet, with only the bird calls and the soft sound of the river to be heard.  Cali was in awe of the beauty and the peace of the old sawmill village, even though she had been coming here for years.

With the power and water to the cabin turned on, and the car unpacked, Cali was able to sit with a coffee and absorb the smell of the native frangipani growing behind the cabin.  A kookaburra flew down and perched on the chair where Cali’s feet were resting.  His beak was scratched and dented from years of whacking his prey against the tree branches. Aww, you want some sausage, Cali asked the kookaburra, as she hand fed the old bird.

Cali’s friends would be arriving throughout the afternoon. Until then, the village was empty.  Before that though, Cali fancied a trip down to the riverbed. It was the first week of spring and the air temperature was as warm as a summer’s day.  A cool swim is just what I need, thought Cali.  A strange yearning to go to the river by herself flitted through Cali’s mind. Whistling, Cali walked to the end of the road running through the village, and stopped at the bridge which crossed the river.  There were stinging nettles and Cali carefully stepped around them to make her way down the steep slope to the riverbed, positioning each foot into a crevice.  It’s so dry, thought Cali. No moss to side step this time.  Jeez, we need rain.

The river was the lowest Cali had seen in a long time. The rocks and pebbles were exposed and the pools of water were clear. It was so quiet. A slight breeze was rustling through the trees up high. Cali sat and put her feet in the cool water. The minute she did this, Cali heard a whisper, or was it the wind?
  
The whisper was a woman’s voice and she said “Tell me your name?” Cali wondered if she had gone mad; well madder.  There was not a person in sight and the voice sounded odd. Choosing to ignore the voice, Cali stripped off her clothes and gingerly eased herself into the water. A little way up, the rocks were formed into a rounded seat, and the water gushed over as a miniature waterfall. Cali swam over and sat with her back to the water. Sitting there naked was a sensual feeling Cali liked. The whisper came again, “Tell me your name?” it asked.

“Whoever you are, my friends are just up near the bridge,” Cali spoke quietly. Well, that’s just brilliant, Cali thought.  Now I am speaking out loud to the wind.  Suddenly a figure emerged out of the water in front of Cali. It was a woman’s figure made of small and medium sized river rocks. The rocks were smooth and round and highlighted the curves of the woman’s body.

Cali made to run and the woman of the river spoke.  “I know why you are here. The river runs through your body as it does mine. Sit down and we will speak. Don’t be afraid.”

Thinking she must have climbed onto the warm rocks, fallen asleep and was dreaming, Cali stayed where she was. When things couldn't get any weirder, a man made of tree emerged from between two she-oaks. He was tall with hard, strong looking limbs.  He sat down in front of Cali and said “We are here to befriend you, not frighten you.  We have only a few who can see us and speak to us, and it’s been a long time between friends.”

Cali allowed the serenity of the river to wash over her, and listened to the stories told by her new friends.  This is a whacked out dream, she thought.  As they spoke,  the new friends moved closer to each other. Cali leant back closing her eyes, and felt the water running between her thighs and over her nipples. The woman of the river sat behind Cali and gently held her, and the man of the trees moved himself towards Cali. The three molded together. Cali experienced a rush of warmth through her body that was at odds with the cool river water. When she opened her eyes, Cali was alone. 

Whoa, hold on a damn minute, what was that? Cali quickly rock hopped back to the bank of the river, and made her way up the slope to the bridge.  Squinting at the bright sun, Cali heard another whisper in the wind, “We are always here, come back one day. You are most welcome”. Cali heard a car coming up the dusty road and quickly dried herself off with the towel.