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My stories
The Man Who Hated Wasting Paper
I would give him wings made from the crisp red gold of fallen leaves, fold the bark of silver birch into darts that would pierce his stingy heart. I...
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- 1017 reads
Three Women at the Estuary
The first one flew away before we had time to say barely hello. The geese honked derision at the fumbled fond words I hoped to snare her with . The...
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- 1666 reads
Moving
He moved house in his ninetieth year all by himself. Not because the flat he had was unsuitable, nor that he couldn’t manage the stairs. There was...
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- 929 reads
A Remembered Summons
Post took longer to arrive in those black-and-white days decades ago. The Royal Mail had to fight through packs of wolves across the 'Here Be Dragons...
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- 1854 reads
Dusk Words
Gloaming is knowing the dust of words and worlds, transition time, the hourglass hour, quicksand skies, sighing slipway into the lordly, proper dark...
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- 372 reads