With hues of blue above my head
I wandered through his painted field
The dappled sky throws soft the light
Upon the ground scattered bright
Of yellow and blue and poppy red
His flowers of summer strewn.
My thoughts of brush and palette fed
He had dabbled and daubed to blend
With perfection on his canvas bear
One day filled with summer fair
My mind was distant thinking be
As I walked in Monet's field.
How sweet the night and tender day
When in that meadow I did see
Birds were fleeing from distant trees
That drifted on a summer breeze
Wafting perfume through the air
As I walked in Monet's field.
Shadows formed upon the flowers
From blue and white scudding clouds
Floating above his poppies of red
I stooped to pick when butterflies fled
His flush of flowers they did bloom
As I walked in Monet's field.
Night drops upon the robin's breast
Shadows form as day has flown
Not yet as his intrepid hand
Still forms its perfection sound
Warm the day was long and carefree
As I walked in Monet's field.
Tread softly as the night comes nigh
Upon his flowers before me shed
For they must remain for all to see
To capture its essence of summer feel
Through half the day I did saunter
As I walked in Monet's field.
The clouds above I did follow
White tipped grey with blue behind
Becoming part of Monet's art
Drifting slowly white as wool
Sweet meadow here with flowers full
As I walked in Monet's field.
Few birds float upon the air
To glide and disappear from here
I'm lost in Monet's painting be
Don't find me where I can see
What now will those clouds behold
As I walked in Monet's field.
If I should slow and tarry here
Leave me in that painting free
A starry night above most bright
Deliver thee from this artist's light
Summer's breath upon me breathing
As I walked in Monet's field.
Into evening's slumber be
Shadows casting ere sun has gone
Clouds hung loose above my musings
Lest I forget this tranquil blessing
Captured blues and reds so vivid
As I walked in Monet's field.
Tuesday 28 January 2014
Monday 27 January 2014
Miss Peabody's Dilemma - (for children)
Miss Peabody woke one morning, with two Labrador dogs, the colour of creamed honey, licking her face. Their tails were wagging furiously. 'Oh, you naughty dogs,' she murmured, wincing slightly while still half asleep.
The end of summer weather outside was sultry. Dry leaves rustled as a breeze blew stronger, the loneliness of it, sighing through apple boughs in her garden. For Miss Peabody loved growing and eating apples, big red juicy ones, crisp and crunchy, that ripened in the autumn. Overhead, large puffy, dark blue clouds were gathering, as she gazed sleepily out of her bedroom window. It looked and felt like a storm was brewing. It had been quite a warm and dry summer, most of the time. She much preferred the coolness of autumn, even winter had its good points, its charm when it snowed.
Miss Peabody particularly loved the snow, as she would delight in watching it fall, slowly mounting up in her garden, its whiteness when the sun shone, causing it to glisten and sparkle, like jewels scattered on a lake. The snow could be fine and dry when it was very cold, but at other times, it would fall in large puffy flakes, that fluttered down slowly and sat on the end of her nose. This always made her laugh. She wore glasses and the snow would often block her vision, when she wished they were equipped with tiny windscreen wipers to brush it away.
Miss Peabody lived alone, in a small thatched cottage, vaguely in the centre of England, apart from her two playful dogs. She was a retired schoolteacher and now wrote children's books that sold well. She had enjoyed teaching children, finding each and every one having their own imagination in some form or another. She would sometimes ask if the children wanted to share what they thought, which was great inspiration for her books.
From time to time during the winter, snow would fall and she, not being very old as yet, loved to walk in it, kicking it into the air, watching it scatter around her feet. It always looked pretty when the sun shone. Her two Labrador dogs, Molly and Mindy, accompanied her everywhere. The snow in winter was always a joy to them, as they bounded playfully between the trees, when it fell throughout the woodlands; and everywhere else for that matter. They would bark, chasing each other through the trees, biting at large puffy white flakes, drifting slowly to the ground from grey clouds overhead. Miss Peabody would laugh, trying in vain to call them to attention, but failing. Molly and Mindy would pretend to squabble, ending up rolling around, getting utterly covered in snow, until they suddenly stopped still, shook themselves, then continued with their game.
She thought many times of her dilemma whenever it snowed, the temperature low, air sharp and frosty. Sometimes it was so cold, icicles would form, hanging from the thatched roof of her cottage.
It was at those times, Miss Peabody's imagination would get the better of her, when her mind always drifted to a far off land made completely of ice. She couldn't help it! The people living there, were well able to cope with the cold, as they were not ordinary people like she was. They had no dogs like Molly and Mindy, but a type of moose with horns instead. These animals were strong, hardy and very amiable, almost pets. Instead of cars, the moose pulled a sled, gliding over ice and snow with great ease. Their houses were made of ice too, living a strange imaginary existence. Fish were caught and eaten by digging deep down into the snow and ice, where they knew underneath, fish swam freely. These people, with Miss Peabody's imagination, were very special, always kind and considerate to each other, always happy, sharing what little they had and never squabbled amongst themselves.
A prince ruled their kingdom. Although he lived in a tall castle built of ice, a moat filled with snow surrounding it - he was like one of them, never to judge another, never to be cross and impatient when things went wrong. A prince who often spent time with his people. Together on special occasions, they would magically light a bonfire and join in eating and making merry.
Suddenly, a storm broke outside. Thunder boomed loudly, causing Molly and Mindy to bark briefly. 'Hush you two. It's only thunder, probably a brief storm, that's all. Nothing for you to worry yourselves about!' Miss Peabody was wide awake now. Getting out of bed, she heard rain starting to fall, but upon her roof, being built of a special thatching straw grown only in summer and very thick, it was fairly quiet.
She flapped her hands, so her dogs knew it was time they left they vacated her room, to join her in the kitchen for breakfast. At that moment, rain was falling heavier, splashing against some of the windows as the wind grew stronger.
Another crash of thunder sounded. 'Oh dear', Miss Peabody uttered to the dogs. She always fed them first, as they were more lively than ever first thing in the morning. She placed some food in each of their bowls, which was instantly gobbled up. 'That's not good for you,' she remarked, shaking her head slightly and frowning at them. 'You should eat more slowly, as it would be far better for your digestion,' she retorted, waving a finger in their direction. But they just looked up at her, wagging their tails, expectant.
Still frowning, shaking her head and muttering to herself, Miss Peabody paced the kitchen preparing her breakfast. She continued muttering about her dogs a short while, for she loved and cared for them dearly. They were great company to her and looked after things in the house, trying to help wherever they thought necessary, but often making things far worse.
'Oh my, oh my,' exclaimed Miss Peabody, as lightning and thunder were heard directly overhead. She never really fancied storms, nor did the dogs. They barked when they heard thunder in particular. Miss Peabody knew the storms would eventually pass though, the air often fresher and calmer afterwards, the garden receiving a good soaking, saving her the trouble when it was unusually dry.
Soon summer passed into autumn, when the leaves on her apple trees changed colour, turning from green to yellow and rich red, before floating down, littering the ground below. The autumn nights would grow darker, earlier in the evenings, than in summer. Sometimes there were mists shrouding the garden, causing trees to look ghostlike and mysterious in the quietness of the countryside. The days would slowly become colder, as winter was not far away. Frost appeared on the tips of plants and trees, all around her garden and beyond. Small spider webs formed and hung in the hedgerows, lace-like after a dewy night.
When winter arrived, her imagination would run wild once more. In fact, it was not always in winter, did she think of that far off land, but also during other seasons of the year. She often wondered why this happened - a bit of a dilemma for her, until she suddenly smiled to herself, realizing how much she loved the winters, even the ice was never a problem to her. The crisp white, newness of snow lying on everything in sight, sparkling in winter sunshine, or making everything light and bright in the middle of a long, dark, winter. It captured her imagination, exhilarated and stimulated it, until she just had to write things down in a new story. All the fresh new thoughts roaming in her active mind. Miss Peabody would think of her land of ice, a very long way away, for it was only in her imagination, and no one else's. But nonetheless, it persisted. She wondered what triggered it off, thinking perhaps it was something to do with her childhood. She had been brought up in a warm country and only experienced ice and snow in her later years. This fascinated and indulged her senses, so much so, that it almost became an obsession.
Winter in England, was a season when a few berries still clung to holly bushes. Many plants died off or went to sleep under a snowy blanket, only to awaken when the spring arrived and days became warmer once more. The high banks or hedgerows beside English country lanes, were sometimes piled with snow, the wind causing it to drift across the roadside or fields. When you walked in it, you had to step over or through it, the drifts became so high! Piles of fluffy snow were kicked to and fro into the air. Her two dogs delighted in it, playfully barking as they bounded this way and that. In the fields, snow would lie untouched over hillocks and small valleys, ice forming beside the small stream at the bottom.
Then the wind would blow the powdery flakes into mounds. Miss Peabody's dogs, Molly and Mindy, loved scattering them, as they walked and played excitedly along the quiet country lanes and over fields. They all walked daily, squeezed through gaps in bare hedgerows, hopped over five bar wooden gates, crossed fields of white if it had been snowing heavily, where never a soul had been before. They always made fresh tracks in the snow, delighting if the sun shone after a good fall, causing it to glisten brightly. The thick snow would become icy on the surface after a freezing night, crunching underfoot the next day traipsing through it, boots becoming white, snow sticking to the soles.
Pheasants would call out as they swooped low over the fields, in a passing fog, before returning to the woodland below her cottage. At times they would wander through her garden, where the dogs would bark playfully at them. They'd flap their wings squawking, before departing to a more peaceful scene elsewhere.
As soon as Miss Peabody was well into experiencing a cold winter, her thoughts immediately turned to her imaginary land, ruled by its prince. It was entirely constructed of ice, magical with its castle built high upon a hill, the walls gleaming, appearing endless as they disappeared into a silvery mist in the distance. There were conical shaped rooms built on the corners of the castle, reaching to the sky, bridges crossing the snow-filled moat, that looked as if they were made of sugar crystals.
The prince lived in a smaller room of the castle, for he wanted to appear ordinary to his people, not wanting to put on airs and graces. He was tall and quietly charming, owning a large sled pulled by a moose, often helping his people fish below the ice and only kept what he needed for his own use. He was a much liked prince.
One very icy day in that far off land, a stranger appeared in the midst of its people. He had wandered from afar, stumbling upon this beautiful village made entirely of ice, in search of a gracious lady he had always cared for. The folk of the village had not heard nor seen the lady he spoke of. At least, they didn't think so. Instead, they all shook their heads, looking from one to another in wonderment. They thought the stranger might feel rather out of place in their icy existence and were not keen to encourage him to stay. Hoping he would soon wander off further seeking his lady friend, they turned slowly, not wanting to put their backs to him as it would appear rude and impolite, returned to what they had been doing before the stranger had appeared.
But the stranger didn't wander off, but persisted for some time, becoming bewildered as to what to do next.
Just at that moment the prince happened to be passing the stranger. He paused, asking the stranger the reason for his visit to their land. The stranger explained his reason, giving his name, while the prince listened thoughtfully, patiently biding his time. Then, when the stranger had finished his explanation, to his sadness, learned that the prince had once married the lady he still cared for. Gently he was told, that some time ago, after becoming lost, the lady had wandered amongst them. She had stayed, managing to exist in their land, married the prince, but unexpectedly, died suddenly one day. The last word on her lips at the moment of her death, was that of the stranger, but the prince knew not at that time, to whom she referred.
The stranger left saddened, but satisfied he had learned the whereabouts of this lady, her end being a happy and perhaps peaceful one as far as he was concerned.
Many things happened in that far off land of ice, an imaginary existence that appeared only in the mind of Miss Peabody. She couldn't help it after all. It never entirely left her, but became quite a dilemma really, appearing at the oddest of times and often when it was most inconvenient!
Although she hoped the world would always be a satisfactory place in which to live, she would sometimes revert back in her thoughts to that special place of ice, where the people were pleasant, never to anger or squabble amongst themselves, for they saw no reason in it, being very patient indeed.
Suddenly a dog barked. Miss Peabody put down whatever she was doing, shook her head slightly, leant down and patted both Molly and Minty lovingly. Her mind had been a very long way off, where a prince lived, sharing a strange land built only of ice. 'My goodness! she exclaimed out aloud. 'What a dilemma! I must have been dreaming or something. All these thoughts about a castle so high, it reached the sky. And people living in ice houses, that caught fish under the snow, a moose animal that pulled a sled. Whatever next!'
She glanced out of a window at the snowy scene outside, her dogs wagging their tails, hoping for a walk. 'Oh alright then,' she smiled. 'You win!' Looking down at their expectant faces, she gathered their leads after donning her coat and scarf. Together they scampered through the front door, almost tripping over each as they went. Miss Peabody laughed as Molly and Mindy bounded past her.
The morning sun sparkled on the snow, air sharp with winter's frost. As they passed below the overhanging thatched roof, an icicle plopped down onto the snow at Miss Peabody's feet. She smiled again, thinking of her very special imaginary world, as the three of them wandered off down the snow-covered garden, feet making fresh tracks as they went.
The end of summer weather outside was sultry. Dry leaves rustled as a breeze blew stronger, the loneliness of it, sighing through apple boughs in her garden. For Miss Peabody loved growing and eating apples, big red juicy ones, crisp and crunchy, that ripened in the autumn. Overhead, large puffy, dark blue clouds were gathering, as she gazed sleepily out of her bedroom window. It looked and felt like a storm was brewing. It had been quite a warm and dry summer, most of the time. She much preferred the coolness of autumn, even winter had its good points, its charm when it snowed.
Miss Peabody particularly loved the snow, as she would delight in watching it fall, slowly mounting up in her garden, its whiteness when the sun shone, causing it to glisten and sparkle, like jewels scattered on a lake. The snow could be fine and dry when it was very cold, but at other times, it would fall in large puffy flakes, that fluttered down slowly and sat on the end of her nose. This always made her laugh. She wore glasses and the snow would often block her vision, when she wished they were equipped with tiny windscreen wipers to brush it away.
Miss Peabody lived alone, in a small thatched cottage, vaguely in the centre of England, apart from her two playful dogs. She was a retired schoolteacher and now wrote children's books that sold well. She had enjoyed teaching children, finding each and every one having their own imagination in some form or another. She would sometimes ask if the children wanted to share what they thought, which was great inspiration for her books.
From time to time during the winter, snow would fall and she, not being very old as yet, loved to walk in it, kicking it into the air, watching it scatter around her feet. It always looked pretty when the sun shone. Her two Labrador dogs, Molly and Mindy, accompanied her everywhere. The snow in winter was always a joy to them, as they bounded playfully between the trees, when it fell throughout the woodlands; and everywhere else for that matter. They would bark, chasing each other through the trees, biting at large puffy white flakes, drifting slowly to the ground from grey clouds overhead. Miss Peabody would laugh, trying in vain to call them to attention, but failing. Molly and Mindy would pretend to squabble, ending up rolling around, getting utterly covered in snow, until they suddenly stopped still, shook themselves, then continued with their game.
She thought many times of her dilemma whenever it snowed, the temperature low, air sharp and frosty. Sometimes it was so cold, icicles would form, hanging from the thatched roof of her cottage.
It was at those times, Miss Peabody's imagination would get the better of her, when her mind always drifted to a far off land made completely of ice. She couldn't help it! The people living there, were well able to cope with the cold, as they were not ordinary people like she was. They had no dogs like Molly and Mindy, but a type of moose with horns instead. These animals were strong, hardy and very amiable, almost pets. Instead of cars, the moose pulled a sled, gliding over ice and snow with great ease. Their houses were made of ice too, living a strange imaginary existence. Fish were caught and eaten by digging deep down into the snow and ice, where they knew underneath, fish swam freely. These people, with Miss Peabody's imagination, were very special, always kind and considerate to each other, always happy, sharing what little they had and never squabbled amongst themselves.
A prince ruled their kingdom. Although he lived in a tall castle built of ice, a moat filled with snow surrounding it - he was like one of them, never to judge another, never to be cross and impatient when things went wrong. A prince who often spent time with his people. Together on special occasions, they would magically light a bonfire and join in eating and making merry.
Suddenly, a storm broke outside. Thunder boomed loudly, causing Molly and Mindy to bark briefly. 'Hush you two. It's only thunder, probably a brief storm, that's all. Nothing for you to worry yourselves about!' Miss Peabody was wide awake now. Getting out of bed, she heard rain starting to fall, but upon her roof, being built of a special thatching straw grown only in summer and very thick, it was fairly quiet.
She flapped her hands, so her dogs knew it was time they left they vacated her room, to join her in the kitchen for breakfast. At that moment, rain was falling heavier, splashing against some of the windows as the wind grew stronger.
Another crash of thunder sounded. 'Oh dear', Miss Peabody uttered to the dogs. She always fed them first, as they were more lively than ever first thing in the morning. She placed some food in each of their bowls, which was instantly gobbled up. 'That's not good for you,' she remarked, shaking her head slightly and frowning at them. 'You should eat more slowly, as it would be far better for your digestion,' she retorted, waving a finger in their direction. But they just looked up at her, wagging their tails, expectant.
Still frowning, shaking her head and muttering to herself, Miss Peabody paced the kitchen preparing her breakfast. She continued muttering about her dogs a short while, for she loved and cared for them dearly. They were great company to her and looked after things in the house, trying to help wherever they thought necessary, but often making things far worse.
'Oh my, oh my,' exclaimed Miss Peabody, as lightning and thunder were heard directly overhead. She never really fancied storms, nor did the dogs. They barked when they heard thunder in particular. Miss Peabody knew the storms would eventually pass though, the air often fresher and calmer afterwards, the garden receiving a good soaking, saving her the trouble when it was unusually dry.
Soon summer passed into autumn, when the leaves on her apple trees changed colour, turning from green to yellow and rich red, before floating down, littering the ground below. The autumn nights would grow darker, earlier in the evenings, than in summer. Sometimes there were mists shrouding the garden, causing trees to look ghostlike and mysterious in the quietness of the countryside. The days would slowly become colder, as winter was not far away. Frost appeared on the tips of plants and trees, all around her garden and beyond. Small spider webs formed and hung in the hedgerows, lace-like after a dewy night.
When winter arrived, her imagination would run wild once more. In fact, it was not always in winter, did she think of that far off land, but also during other seasons of the year. She often wondered why this happened - a bit of a dilemma for her, until she suddenly smiled to herself, realizing how much she loved the winters, even the ice was never a problem to her. The crisp white, newness of snow lying on everything in sight, sparkling in winter sunshine, or making everything light and bright in the middle of a long, dark, winter. It captured her imagination, exhilarated and stimulated it, until she just had to write things down in a new story. All the fresh new thoughts roaming in her active mind. Miss Peabody would think of her land of ice, a very long way away, for it was only in her imagination, and no one else's. But nonetheless, it persisted. She wondered what triggered it off, thinking perhaps it was something to do with her childhood. She had been brought up in a warm country and only experienced ice and snow in her later years. This fascinated and indulged her senses, so much so, that it almost became an obsession.
Winter in England, was a season when a few berries still clung to holly bushes. Many plants died off or went to sleep under a snowy blanket, only to awaken when the spring arrived and days became warmer once more. The high banks or hedgerows beside English country lanes, were sometimes piled with snow, the wind causing it to drift across the roadside or fields. When you walked in it, you had to step over or through it, the drifts became so high! Piles of fluffy snow were kicked to and fro into the air. Her two dogs delighted in it, playfully barking as they bounded this way and that. In the fields, snow would lie untouched over hillocks and small valleys, ice forming beside the small stream at the bottom.
Then the wind would blow the powdery flakes into mounds. Miss Peabody's dogs, Molly and Mindy, loved scattering them, as they walked and played excitedly along the quiet country lanes and over fields. They all walked daily, squeezed through gaps in bare hedgerows, hopped over five bar wooden gates, crossed fields of white if it had been snowing heavily, where never a soul had been before. They always made fresh tracks in the snow, delighting if the sun shone after a good fall, causing it to glisten brightly. The thick snow would become icy on the surface after a freezing night, crunching underfoot the next day traipsing through it, boots becoming white, snow sticking to the soles.
Pheasants would call out as they swooped low over the fields, in a passing fog, before returning to the woodland below her cottage. At times they would wander through her garden, where the dogs would bark playfully at them. They'd flap their wings squawking, before departing to a more peaceful scene elsewhere.
As soon as Miss Peabody was well into experiencing a cold winter, her thoughts immediately turned to her imaginary land, ruled by its prince. It was entirely constructed of ice, magical with its castle built high upon a hill, the walls gleaming, appearing endless as they disappeared into a silvery mist in the distance. There were conical shaped rooms built on the corners of the castle, reaching to the sky, bridges crossing the snow-filled moat, that looked as if they were made of sugar crystals.
The prince lived in a smaller room of the castle, for he wanted to appear ordinary to his people, not wanting to put on airs and graces. He was tall and quietly charming, owning a large sled pulled by a moose, often helping his people fish below the ice and only kept what he needed for his own use. He was a much liked prince.
One very icy day in that far off land, a stranger appeared in the midst of its people. He had wandered from afar, stumbling upon this beautiful village made entirely of ice, in search of a gracious lady he had always cared for. The folk of the village had not heard nor seen the lady he spoke of. At least, they didn't think so. Instead, they all shook their heads, looking from one to another in wonderment. They thought the stranger might feel rather out of place in their icy existence and were not keen to encourage him to stay. Hoping he would soon wander off further seeking his lady friend, they turned slowly, not wanting to put their backs to him as it would appear rude and impolite, returned to what they had been doing before the stranger had appeared.
But the stranger didn't wander off, but persisted for some time, becoming bewildered as to what to do next.
Just at that moment the prince happened to be passing the stranger. He paused, asking the stranger the reason for his visit to their land. The stranger explained his reason, giving his name, while the prince listened thoughtfully, patiently biding his time. Then, when the stranger had finished his explanation, to his sadness, learned that the prince had once married the lady he still cared for. Gently he was told, that some time ago, after becoming lost, the lady had wandered amongst them. She had stayed, managing to exist in their land, married the prince, but unexpectedly, died suddenly one day. The last word on her lips at the moment of her death, was that of the stranger, but the prince knew not at that time, to whom she referred.
The stranger left saddened, but satisfied he had learned the whereabouts of this lady, her end being a happy and perhaps peaceful one as far as he was concerned.
Many things happened in that far off land of ice, an imaginary existence that appeared only in the mind of Miss Peabody. She couldn't help it after all. It never entirely left her, but became quite a dilemma really, appearing at the oddest of times and often when it was most inconvenient!
Although she hoped the world would always be a satisfactory place in which to live, she would sometimes revert back in her thoughts to that special place of ice, where the people were pleasant, never to anger or squabble amongst themselves, for they saw no reason in it, being very patient indeed.
Suddenly a dog barked. Miss Peabody put down whatever she was doing, shook her head slightly, leant down and patted both Molly and Minty lovingly. Her mind had been a very long way off, where a prince lived, sharing a strange land built only of ice. 'My goodness! she exclaimed out aloud. 'What a dilemma! I must have been dreaming or something. All these thoughts about a castle so high, it reached the sky. And people living in ice houses, that caught fish under the snow, a moose animal that pulled a sled. Whatever next!'
She glanced out of a window at the snowy scene outside, her dogs wagging their tails, hoping for a walk. 'Oh alright then,' she smiled. 'You win!' Looking down at their expectant faces, she gathered their leads after donning her coat and scarf. Together they scampered through the front door, almost tripping over each as they went. Miss Peabody laughed as Molly and Mindy bounded past her.
The morning sun sparkled on the snow, air sharp with winter's frost. As they passed below the overhanging thatched roof, an icicle plopped down onto the snow at Miss Peabody's feet. She smiled again, thinking of her very special imaginary world, as the three of them wandered off down the snow-covered garden, feet making fresh tracks as they went.
Friday 17 January 2014
Summer Storm
The air was thick with summer. Day after day oppressive heat had raged, consumed, overwhelmed, frazzled the mind, sapped the body of energy, while inland countryside seared in a shimmering heat haze, bone-dry, devoid of any moisture.
Men sweated profusely inside their yellow suits, felt themselves almost melt as they dedicated themselves to fight out-of-control rampaging bush fires. They struggled against the confronting glow with its all consuming flames and radiant heat, unbearable as the fire front travelled fast and furious, threatening, devastating all in its path. Smoke rose high into the air, as trees, land and homes disappeared in thick choking clouds, billowing into the heavens.
Roadsides appeared molten, paths of bitumen and concrete cracked, opened up. Beside the park, tall seedy grasses waved back and forth in the heat of a hot north wind. Birds fled to escape the dryness, heat that was intolerable, the atmosphere feeling like a furnace burning wildly, furiously, uncontrollably.
Beside the sea, people fried their skin t0 dark pink and red in the intense heat of the day, before sizzling in the cool green sea. Soft golden sand was too hot to walk upon, so the beach people hurried to the water's edge and dipped toes and feet into incoming waves that felt cool. Young boys dived off the end of the pier into water that was a deep green.
Tess, a black Labrador dog, whimpered close to old George as he sat back in his worn chair and fanned himself. The heat was getting to him and he was not used to discarding many of his clothes, but the last few days he was forced to make an exception. He sat back with his face wet with sweat and uncomfortable.
There was a sudden rumbling sound in the distance.
'I know old girl,' he said, a wrinkled, weathered hand reaching down to soft furry ears. 'I think you heard that thunder in the distance as I did. Let's hope a storm is on its way, eh Tess?'
Inside George's house, darkness was gradually filling the room in the late afternoon. The long hot summer had made its presence known, as everything around them felt hot, the furniture, inside the cupboards, the floors even. Hot water flowed from the cold tap when old George tried to fill Tess's bowl with water. 'The air is so heavy, you could cut it with a knife, George muttered and mumbled to himself, extricating himself from the chair, shuffling to the kitchen sink.
Outside, clouds were grey, building up and becoming darker, thick with promising rain. The sun became obscured, its penetrating rays momentarily extinguished, having an immediate effect with the temperature, causing it to drop slightly. On a wall the barometer needle pointed to change, slowly moving toward rain.
A bright light forked the sky in the distance, lightning danced through the oncoming storm, darker, more threatening. Loud claps of thunder were heard as birds scattered to safety, screeching from the garden, trees swaying with the increasing wind, tossing their heads as dry leaves were torn from the branches.
'Looks like there'll be a storm alright Tess!' The black Labrador wagged her tail slowly, looking up at George through large brown eyes. She whimpered again, got up, stretched and settled back to try and sleep. 'It's getting closer too, by the sounds of it!' George continued. 'We'd better check a few things and batten down the hatches.'
George had been a tugboat captain in his day, now retired. He and Tess lived in a cottage style home close to the sea. His wife had died two years earlier and he was alone now with only Tess for company. George rose from his chair and went to the back door overlooking the small back garden. The black labrador followed close behind thinking they were going out walking. Her tail wagged in expectation.
'No Tess, not this time. Think its going to rain soon!' George turned and patted the disappointed Tess.
At that moment a large drop of rain fell on the path near the patio, followed by several more. His small garden was in desperate need of water. It had wilted and drooped in places, looking half dead.
'Ah, I was right then Tess. Long may it continue,' smiled George, as the rain started in earnest. Suddenly another boom of thunder sounded and old George reached down to comfort Tess.
'It's alright my Tess, don't you go worrying yourself. We'll be safe inside, but just look at that lovely rain falling!' George was delighted and signaled to Tess to stay put while he wandered out into the path of the rain. He looked up, smiling. 'God bless you,' he said to the rain, for he loved his garden and the plants had been suffering from the heat, which saddened George. Watering sometimes with the hose, was a losing battle, but this rain was heaven-sent. He put his face up to greet the cool drops splashing around him, soaking everything in its path as the heaven's descended, wetting his face, arms and body. It felt good.
Tess had followed George to the door and sat watching him getting wetter by the moment. She barked and stood wagging her tail as George laughed. With the storm, the wind had changed direction causing the temperature to drop considerably. The cloud burst had dumped plenty of cool rain on dry ground, eucalyptus trees lapping up moisture, the remaining leaves smelling fragrant, as did everything else in its path. Rain had sheeted down in torrents, glistening now on every wilted leaf, glad of its moisture. Thunder and lightning had crackled in the hot windless air.
Slowly the storm started to abate, the sun reappeared from the tips of passing clouds, sending fingers of sunlight streaking across the nearby park, a soft glow flickering through branches. The garden became drenched in the aftermath, the half dead plants of George's garden perking up, refreshed. George too, felt cool and refreshed as he ran his well worn fingers through thinning grey hair. The wind was dying as the rain ceased to a gentle pattering upon the roof of the house. He thought he heard the garden signing with satisfaction.
The air felt clean, cool, rain had soaked, splashed and puddled the ground as birds flew back to an old oak tree, chirping loudly. The wind became quiet as the sun filtered through remaining clouds far to the west. George wandered over to a seat on the small patio, called Tess to him and sat for a while in the early evening sun. The heat had disappeared with the storm and the tranquility of the moment was blissful to both. Summer was coming to an end and with the autumn, came cool nights and warm days, filling the air with coloured beauty that fluttered down, littering the ground. Mists would descend from the hills, summer becoming but a memory, as George would walk with Tess along the sea front, dreaming of tugboats and tall ships.
Men sweated profusely inside their yellow suits, felt themselves almost melt as they dedicated themselves to fight out-of-control rampaging bush fires. They struggled against the confronting glow with its all consuming flames and radiant heat, unbearable as the fire front travelled fast and furious, threatening, devastating all in its path. Smoke rose high into the air, as trees, land and homes disappeared in thick choking clouds, billowing into the heavens.
Roadsides appeared molten, paths of bitumen and concrete cracked, opened up. Beside the park, tall seedy grasses waved back and forth in the heat of a hot north wind. Birds fled to escape the dryness, heat that was intolerable, the atmosphere feeling like a furnace burning wildly, furiously, uncontrollably.
Beside the sea, people fried their skin t0 dark pink and red in the intense heat of the day, before sizzling in the cool green sea. Soft golden sand was too hot to walk upon, so the beach people hurried to the water's edge and dipped toes and feet into incoming waves that felt cool. Young boys dived off the end of the pier into water that was a deep green.
Tess, a black Labrador dog, whimpered close to old George as he sat back in his worn chair and fanned himself. The heat was getting to him and he was not used to discarding many of his clothes, but the last few days he was forced to make an exception. He sat back with his face wet with sweat and uncomfortable.
There was a sudden rumbling sound in the distance.
'I know old girl,' he said, a wrinkled, weathered hand reaching down to soft furry ears. 'I think you heard that thunder in the distance as I did. Let's hope a storm is on its way, eh Tess?'
Inside George's house, darkness was gradually filling the room in the late afternoon. The long hot summer had made its presence known, as everything around them felt hot, the furniture, inside the cupboards, the floors even. Hot water flowed from the cold tap when old George tried to fill Tess's bowl with water. 'The air is so heavy, you could cut it with a knife, George muttered and mumbled to himself, extricating himself from the chair, shuffling to the kitchen sink.
Outside, clouds were grey, building up and becoming darker, thick with promising rain. The sun became obscured, its penetrating rays momentarily extinguished, having an immediate effect with the temperature, causing it to drop slightly. On a wall the barometer needle pointed to change, slowly moving toward rain.
A bright light forked the sky in the distance, lightning danced through the oncoming storm, darker, more threatening. Loud claps of thunder were heard as birds scattered to safety, screeching from the garden, trees swaying with the increasing wind, tossing their heads as dry leaves were torn from the branches.
'Looks like there'll be a storm alright Tess!' The black Labrador wagged her tail slowly, looking up at George through large brown eyes. She whimpered again, got up, stretched and settled back to try and sleep. 'It's getting closer too, by the sounds of it!' George continued. 'We'd better check a few things and batten down the hatches.'
George had been a tugboat captain in his day, now retired. He and Tess lived in a cottage style home close to the sea. His wife had died two years earlier and he was alone now with only Tess for company. George rose from his chair and went to the back door overlooking the small back garden. The black labrador followed close behind thinking they were going out walking. Her tail wagged in expectation.
'No Tess, not this time. Think its going to rain soon!' George turned and patted the disappointed Tess.
At that moment a large drop of rain fell on the path near the patio, followed by several more. His small garden was in desperate need of water. It had wilted and drooped in places, looking half dead.
'Ah, I was right then Tess. Long may it continue,' smiled George, as the rain started in earnest. Suddenly another boom of thunder sounded and old George reached down to comfort Tess.
'It's alright my Tess, don't you go worrying yourself. We'll be safe inside, but just look at that lovely rain falling!' George was delighted and signaled to Tess to stay put while he wandered out into the path of the rain. He looked up, smiling. 'God bless you,' he said to the rain, for he loved his garden and the plants had been suffering from the heat, which saddened George. Watering sometimes with the hose, was a losing battle, but this rain was heaven-sent. He put his face up to greet the cool drops splashing around him, soaking everything in its path as the heaven's descended, wetting his face, arms and body. It felt good.
Tess had followed George to the door and sat watching him getting wetter by the moment. She barked and stood wagging her tail as George laughed. With the storm, the wind had changed direction causing the temperature to drop considerably. The cloud burst had dumped plenty of cool rain on dry ground, eucalyptus trees lapping up moisture, the remaining leaves smelling fragrant, as did everything else in its path. Rain had sheeted down in torrents, glistening now on every wilted leaf, glad of its moisture. Thunder and lightning had crackled in the hot windless air.
Slowly the storm started to abate, the sun reappeared from the tips of passing clouds, sending fingers of sunlight streaking across the nearby park, a soft glow flickering through branches. The garden became drenched in the aftermath, the half dead plants of George's garden perking up, refreshed. George too, felt cool and refreshed as he ran his well worn fingers through thinning grey hair. The wind was dying as the rain ceased to a gentle pattering upon the roof of the house. He thought he heard the garden signing with satisfaction.
The air felt clean, cool, rain had soaked, splashed and puddled the ground as birds flew back to an old oak tree, chirping loudly. The wind became quiet as the sun filtered through remaining clouds far to the west. George wandered over to a seat on the small patio, called Tess to him and sat for a while in the early evening sun. The heat had disappeared with the storm and the tranquility of the moment was blissful to both. Summer was coming to an end and with the autumn, came cool nights and warm days, filling the air with coloured beauty that fluttered down, littering the ground. Mists would descend from the hills, summer becoming but a memory, as George would walk with Tess along the sea front, dreaming of tugboats and tall ships.
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