House on the Hill

     Positioned vaguely along a sleepy ridge on a grassy hillside, in a whimsical sort of manner, nestled a rambling three story house, thought to be early Georgian, with its quaint windows and sloping thatched roof.
     When Isabel glanced across the valley towards the end of spring, she noticed wisps of smoke drifting aimlessly from one of its chimneys. A ghost of a cloud hovered gently overhead, wrapping itself around swaying treetops high on the top of a hill, sunrays managing to finger through branches, casting golden light down across the valley. 
     The house seemed forlorn somehow, lacking the character, warmth and homeliness it exuded many years ago. Isabel's memory of it was one of sadness, a heart that ached, as she gazed at its stone walls painted white, the soft blue-grey of the front door once made of solid oak. Its windows suited its charm and grace, giving it a presence no other houses nearby possessed - or at least Isabel thought so anyway. Many happy memories remained in that house, for it was over thirty years ago that it all began.
      There was a small village not one mile away, having a pub, Norman church and what represented a village shop. Many cottages, houses and a few farms tumbled down the narrow lanes, scattering themselves across nearby hills. Cattle and a few sheep grazed the rich rain-soaked pastures.
     Several days later Isabel sighed and wandered on, her thoughts and memories dwelling on the many years spent with William, his kind face and gentle manner filling her days and nights with love and laughter. 
     The countryside surrounding the house on the hill, was vivid green for much of the year, as rain fell in abundance in this part of Devon, feeding the fertile soil. Hills were high in places, trees and hedgerows alive with birdsong, with wild flowers adorning the country lanes in spring and summer until eventually the rolling hills dipped lower reaching the sea not far away. Many trees, with the odd woodland, dotted the hills and valleys. Some of oak and cedar old and knarred, branches far reaching dipping to the ground below.
      During spring and summer, into early autumn, leaves were full and abundant clinging to trees and thick amongst the hedgerows. Wildlife lived and roamed on the edge of fields and deep within woodlands, a fox barking in the depths of night, while owls swooped low to their prey. Rabbits, foxes and badgers made their homes in banks and under hedges, were nocturnal, elusive in Devon's lush countryside. 
     The long, often bleak winters were more silent, when hardly a bird was heard twittering, as the cold snowy season set in with a vengeance. Falls could be deep, an occasional blizzard blowing down from the north east, or elsewhere, forming huge drifts that settled precariously along laneways and hedgerows. Rooftops sparkled in the early afternoon sunshine after heavy overnight falls. Everywhere fell silent when snow fluttered down softly, drifting in all directions, building up quickly against the Georgian window panes of the home Isabel had shared with William. The winters sometimes brought an iciness that carpeted everything in its path, froze water in small streams, which to Isabel, looked magical. She gloried in the winters, specially when the garden and fields turned virginal white. The beauty of it was breathtaking, for she enjoyed later sitting by a crackling log fire, William reading a book nearby with a glass of whiskey  and later they would sometimes share in long discussions over a glass of wine. They were comfortable, happy in each other's company, their two boys having grown up and moved away, far from home.

     Isabel brought her thoughts back to the present as she came upon the old Norman church, lying on the edge of the village. She wandered through its large oak door, remembering the day when she and William were married, on a late September morning. The sun remaining warm on their faces, while leaves had begun to change colour on the churchyard trees, the interior smelling sweetly of roses. She thought of the white ones she had carried in her bouquet and wore in her hair. Isabel smiled inwardly, thinking of the joy and blissful happiness they had both felt on their wedding day and for the many years afterwards.
     During the summer, white roses had graced the doorway of their house on the hill, its old oak door being framed by an abundance of showy blooms. They had witnessed the laughter and games played on the lawns circling the house. The children had played with balls, climbed trees and shot with bows and arrows at an imaginary enemy galloping into the garden, wearing full armour, and carrying a lance.
     Upon entering the church, Isabel felt the quiet stillness, although somewhere an organ was playing Bach she recognized had been part of their wedding ceremony. A warm feeling overcame her as she stopped to listen, smiling, remembering the beautiful happy day she had wed her dear William. How contented they had been. Their sons growing up in the countryside, boarding at a fine school where they soon settled, achieving academic levels to which both she and William had been proud. Later they had drifted off to university some distance away, returning home during holidays. Finally they had left their childhood behind in the house with oak doors, finding their way in the world. She and William had soon settled into early retirement in their absence.
     The organ had ceased and the walls echoed to the many children that had been baptized in the village church, the weddings, funerals, and friendly faces at harvest festival time, all remembered now.  
     It had been a somber but heartfelt funeral for William when he died, not too long ago. She gave a sniff as memories flooded in. Then Isabel found it necessary to move from their home, as old memories had been unbearably difficult to bear. It had become too large, so she decided to move to a smaller, more manageable place not too far away across the valley. She had always loved the seaside, with many walks undertaken by the whole family. When their boys left, it was just her and William strolling across the sand, close to the incoming tide late on summer evenings, the sun melting into the sea like a pool of molten fire. 
     Isabel walked up the aisle of the old church, as morning sunlight filtered gently through stained glass windows. She slipped quietly out through the old studded church door, with  sunshine warming her face, wondering whether to pass by her old home. She was beginning to feel hungry, thinking what she would cook for lunch.
     As a slight mist dusted the hilltops being late summer now, Isabel walked along narrow country lanes, pausing once or twice to hear the loud twittering of birds as they flitted from tree to tree, busily catching what insects were still available. Soon, a white painted house came into view, having blue-grey doors and windows nestling into its thatched roof. She immediately thought back to when she had to sell it and move to a smaller house, being alone and without her beloved William. Her feelings were still raw, heart beginning to pound as she eventually came upon the charming and somewhat rambling house. It was full of memories reminding her of how William changed her whole life. He had made it complete, happy, contented. Facing life without him was often intolerable, daunting. He had died suddenly after a short illness, leaving her bereft and lonely.
     Isabel slowed her pace as she came across the low wooden front gate she remembered so well, her eyes darting about the garden, trying not to look too conspicuous. 
     In the garden was a lady similar to her own age, bent to the chores of tidying a border. She stopped, looking up as Isabel hesitated. 'Hello', she said, an enquiring smile on her face. The lady appeared quite tall, had a pleasant face with kindly brown eyes and grey streaks running through her dark hair that partially curled about her attractive face. She removed her gardening gloves standing up, making a slight grimace straightening her back.
     Isabel smiled at her. 'Hello!' she replied. 'You must be the owner who bought this property from me some while ago.
     'Why yes,' said the lady, slightly puzzled. 'Yes, we did.'
     Isabel couldn't help casting her gaze over the garden. 'I never met you at the time, but hope you've been happy living here. It was our home for many years and our children were brought up in this house when they were very young.'
     'Oh indeed I have been,' the lady answered. 'Very much so, and I love the garden, but it can be a bit of a handful at times when you are on your own.' She walked the few steps to where Isabel stood behind the gate, extending her hand.  'My name is Susan and its nice to meet you after all this time. Do come in if you have time,' she beckoned. 'Would you like to wander through the garden with me?'
     'Thank you.' Isabel shook hands with the lady over the gate feeling pleased. 'Well, if you're sure I won't  be holding you up from your gardening. My name is Isabel by the way.'
     'Not at all, I fancy a break,' replied Susan appearing somewhat relieved. 'I've been hard at it all morning and becoming rather tired. It must feel strange seeing your garden again, but I suppose it's mine now,' she said, looking a little nonchalant.
     Isabel stood beside Susan, a feeling of loss, memories flooding back as they began to stroll side by side. She thought for a moment, then answered, trying to feel positive, leaving the past behind and going forward, no matter what it took. She drew a long breath. 'Yes, its your house and garden now, and although I'll always have happy memories living here, it's necessary to quietly close a door as others may open.'
     Susan smiled looking over at Isabel as they sauntered past some roses being rather late in blooming. 'That's a lovely way to think about it I suppose. My life has had one or two doors closing recently.'
    'Oh!' said Isabel. 'Nothing too serious I hope?' She didn't want to sound too familiar or pry, as they had only just met.
     'Well, you could call it that. I lost my husband a few months ago and finding things rather difficult on my own.'
     'I am sorry,' replied Isabel. I've been without my dear William for some time now. Not a days goes by when I don't think of him and miss him terribly. That's why I sold this house. It became necessary to live in something smaller, more manageable. Our children grew up and moved away, so it was unnecessary keeping it going by myself. And with ageing becoming more of a problem in time, I made the obvious decision to sell. But there will always be memories attached to this house and the garden.'
      'I guess there will be. I'm in the same boat now, although we never had children, but thought friends would come down from London for weekends, the house was perfect for that.'

     An hour had passed and both ladies were feeling more than hungry. Susan suddenly turned to Isabel, 'I know we don't know each other very well, but would you like to stay for a spot of lunch? It will only be a bowl of homemade chicken and vegetable soup and some seed bread to go with it. I've always loved making bread and as it happens, made some only this morning.'  
     'That sounds wonderful to me,' said Isabel smiling at the thought. 'Thank you very much. If it isn't too much trouble, I'd be pleased to.'
     'That's settled then. I can return to the gardening any old time.' Susan washed her hands under a garden tap and shook them. 'I'd best wash them properly in the kitchen. Do come in. Hope you weren't in a hurry to get home.'
     'Not at all! I wandered into the village church for a short time and will walk the extra mile or two later. One needs to keep active if possible, or the whole body would cease up, given half a chance.' Susan smiled, ushering  Isabel through the kitchen door, inviting her to take a seat beside a large farmhouse table.
     'It must seem really strange for you to walk through that doorway again?' Susan applied soap to her hands and ran them under the tap, before reaching for a towel. 'I guess the place looks much the same as when you were here. We never got round to a lot of re-decorating when we moved in. Thankfully you left the house in good order and we only needed to repaint a few rooms to freshen them up.'
     Isabel glanced quickly around the room. 'William was always good at that. He loved to be up ladders and tinkering with things. This house was very special to us both. It was the garden that was my specialty. It took a lot of care, but well worth it.' She looked over to a small vase of wild flowers. She had always loved spring and the garden bursting forth with new life after the long dark days of winter.
     They sat and chatted over soup and fresh bread. Susan finished hers, buttering another slice of bread. 'I guess that's why there wasn't a lot to do in the house when we moved in. 'Such a lovely place,' she sighed. 'But I'm not at all sure what to do now that Oliver has departed. I miss him so much.'
     Isabel was silent for a while, thinking of William and the happy marriage they had shared. The house had become a home and she felt a little uncomfortable now it was no longer theirs. She smiled gently at Susan. 'We seem to be in the same boat now. It is said that time heals, but to me, it's a long time to wait.'
     'Life is never the same after losing someone dear to you,' Susan mused, fingering the last morsel of bread on her plate. She looked up at that moment catching Isabel's eye. 'I say, would you like to have lunch with me another time soon, I've enjoyed our chat?'
     'That's kind of you to ask,' smiled Isabel. 'I'd like that. I'd better be on my way soon and thank you for the delicious lunch.'
     'Do you live very far away? I could drive you to save a long walk.'
     'No thanks Susan. I enjoy walking. It's not that far really.'
     Susan thought suddenly. 'Perhaps we should swap telephone numbers so we can be in touch again soon.'
     'An excellent idea!' replied Isabel pausing at the front door.

     Two weeks had passed when Isabel decided to phone Susan. When they had talked on first meeting, they soon  found they shared similar interests and a love of medieval history in particular.  
     Over the next few months the two ladies, having formed a firm relationship, spent many hours together discussing some of the books they had read, one in particular was a medieval mystery.

     On a morning when sunshine spilled over the countryside after many rain-filled days and nights, the summer sun felt warm and enticing, spreading across hilltops, filling the valleys. Flowers were still in abundance in the winding lanes. Sweet-smelling honeysuckle wound around dog roses, through full leaf copper beech. Blue periwinkles scrambled below hedgerows, when Isabel arrived at Susan's house, soon in deep conversation about a medieval mystery that had occurred in Cambridge.
     Later they were walking in the garden when Isabel noticed something small and wooden poking out close to the house in one of the borders skirting the house. She almost pounced on it, but restrained herself. 'What on earth can that be?' she exclaimed, becoming animated. 'I've done lots of gardening here, but never have I noticed that!' she added, closely scrutinizing a piece of what looked like old timber.
     'Nor have I!' replied Susan puzzled. 'Let's take a closer look at it. I'm intrigued.' They both bent down with curious expressions on their faces, feeling strange pangs of excitement.
     'Think we had better unearth it,' added Isabel. 'What do you think Susan?'
     'Oh, of course! Indeed we must,' replied Susan, grasping the end of the small piece of old timber and giving it a slight tug. She was surprised it moved at all, but brushed away the soil around it until it became obvious to both ladies. It appeared to be a lid of some sort.
     'This is more interesting by the moment!' Isabel said, encouraging Susan to keep digging. 'I wonder if it...oh my goodness!' she exclaimed as Susan lifted an old rotting lid that revealed what looked to be a huge dark hole beneath.
     'It must lead under the house, as it certainly appears to be big enough. See the direction it goes?' Susan was pointing towards the wall of the house as Isabel stood close to her. They squinted to see in the darkness below their feet, then crouched down trying to adjust their eyes to what lay in the darkness. 'I'll go and fetch a torch. This must be investigated further,' Susan added standing up, straightening her back. 'Won't be a moment Isabel.'
     Very soon, she returned with a large torch, used during power blackouts. 'Now we'll get to the bottom of this!' she nodded, eyebrows lifting, her face twisting in an odd sort of grin.
     Together they shone the torch into the darkness. 'There seems to be a ladder in there,' said Isabel, squinting. 'Do you fancy trying it out Susan? Not sure if I'm game enough.'
     'Well one of us should!' replied Susan. 'If it has to be me, so be it.' She gamely reached out a leg and felt if the ladder appeared safe, as it could have been completely rotten, or eaten away with woodworm. Carefully she trod on one rung then the next while Isabel tried to light her descent. 'Alright so far,' she grimaced, noticing several cobwebs lining the darkened depths.
     'Take care now.' Isabel's face was screwed up, concerned, as Susan was slowly disappearing. Then suddenly she stopped, came back up and took the torch from Isabel.
     'I will need that, as its much too dark down there.' She made her way carefully back down the stairs, dodging more cobwebs. Soon she reached the bottom and shone the torch along the floor. 'Oh my goodness. Oh my...!'
     'What is it?' Isabel was on her knees looking down into the black abyss, beginning to worry. 'Are you alright Susan?'
     'I think so..!' Then silence. 'But...oh dear, I've found something I don't like the look of!' Susan's voice was husky, words more faint.
     'Susan! What's wrong?' demanded Isabel, becoming more than a little worried by now. Silence again. Then slowly, Susan's head appeared from out of the darkness, a strange look on her face, which had paled significantly.
     'For goodness sake Susan, tell me what is wrong. I can't stand the suspense any longer. You have gone quite pale and look as though you've seen a ghost.'
     'Think I might have,' replied Susan, 'well sort of. There are bones down there and I know they are human, as there is a skull attached,' she added dubiously. Her incongruous expression shocked Isabel.
     'That's serious Susan. We must phone the police immediately.'
     'I quite agree,' mumbled Susan, still in a daze with what she had just witnessed.
     'Come on then. I'll make you a nice hot cup of tea. Looks like you could do with it.' Isabel decided she must take the bull by the horns and make Susan the tea this time, even if it wasn't her kitchen. She led her friend towards the back door and into the sun-filled kitchen, which looked a good deal cheerier to Susan, than down that old, creaking ladder. She was still in a bit of a daze as Isabel put the kettle on and walked over to the phone.  

     Within about half an hour, two policemen knocked at the front door. Isabel went to open it.
     'Are you the lady who lives here?' asked a tall, burly policeman.
     'No, but I rang you a short time ago and my friend who discovered the bones, is in the kitchen. I'm just visiting, but she lives here. I owned the house many years ago and never had I found anything like this! It's been a bit of a shock to us both.'
     'Well, we can handle it from now on.' The policemen assumed a businesslike pose walking behind Isabel into the kitchen, where Susan was still drinking hot sweet tea.
     After brief introductions, the policemen naturally wanted to ask some questions and see where the bones had been discovered. Both ladies ushered them out into the garden, to where they had pulled up the trap door covering what lay below. The policemen slowly and carefully descended the old ladder, as it soon became apparent there was enough room for the two of them down there. Susan and Isabel heard some mutterings coming from the depths of the darkened hole, then the policemen reappeared, one at a time. 'We'll have to get forensics out here as soon as possible. We'd be grateful if you were to say nothing of this to anyone. That's important. Do you understand?'
     'Yes, of course!' both ladies answered together.
     'And another thing, you are not to go near here again until it's been closely examined by forensics. We don't want any further contamination than what's already been done. It appears from what we have seen, they are the bones of someone quite young. In fact, we think a murder may have been committed here a very long time ago, but we have to be sure.'
     'A murder? You cannot be serious!' Susan's face was contorted with shock and worry. Isabel's eyes were wide open, her jaw had dropped as she looked over at Susan,  frowning up at the policemen.

     Isabel spent a good deal of time with Susan after that, trying to console her friend. They had both lived there unbeknown that a murder may have been committed. From the day of the discovery, the house no longer held its usual charm, when a feverish melee broke out around it. Several forensic people examined the surroundings of the large hole, but concentrated mainly on what lay beyond the wooden trap door, hidden for many years.
     As Susan and Isabel sipped coffee one morning, gazing out onto a mist-shrouded hillside, there was a knock at the door. On the doorstep stood an illustrious looking man with greying hair, dapper and
well dressed, carrying a file of some sort. 'You'd better come in,' Susan said after the man identified himself as a detective, all the way from Scotland Yard in London. The man had a certain erudite expression about him and both ladies couldn't help feeling impressed with his presence and manner, although Susan had been forewarned of his visit. It had been necessary for him to check many details with the local constabulary, but it was also prudent to put Susan in the picture as to what they had discovered.
     The gentleman sat down, his file still perched on his knee and looked up at two expectant faces. 'Well...' he began. 'It transpires that a hundred years ago there was a murder of a young child only six years old. It was a sad case when his mother, having died of a sudden illness, his brute of a father had lost control and struck his little stepson. The child died instantly. The father must have tried to hide the child's body in the old cellar, then gone off and died himself before it was ever discovered.  The relationship he shared with his second wife was unknown to any of the locals. The poor little boy had been reported missing, but no one had followed up as to his whereabouts. All very poor policing I'm afraid. I'm sorry this had to happen and in this lovely part of the countryside. It's quite astonishing it was never discovered before now.'
     Susan intervened at this moment. 'It's all very sad, but perhaps it was never discovered because it took a lot of erosion of the garden to uncover a small section of the trapdoor. We've had masses of rain over the winter and spring. Slowly the garden soil has been washed away, enough to expose a small piece of wood my friend and I noticed one day while walking nearby. Quite by accident too.'
     'Well, it's all wrapped up now and the forensic people have been very thorough. It's taken a lot of investigation to find out the truth.' The man from Scotland Yard shifted in his seat.
     'Oh, I'm sorry,' Susan said while still in deep thought. 'Would you care for a coffee? I'm forgetting my manners, thinking about what you have told us.'
     'Thank you, yes,' nodded the man, placing his file on the coffee table with relief.
     'I'll be right back.' Susan rose immediately and went to do his bidding. In fact she thought they might all like a fresh cup of coffee and noticed some chocolate cake she thought would be a nice gesture. After all, the man had traveled a long way to relate what needed to come out in the end.
     Susan carried a large tray to the coffee table and after the man had left, looked over to her friend Isabel. 'Whew! Didn't quite expect that, did you Issy?'
     'It was a strong possibility I suppose, but very sad all the same. Do you think you can live with it?' Isabel asked dubiously.
     'I don't think I could now.' Susan gazed across to the window, where outside soft rays of sun had descended amongst the hills. The trees in the small woodland at the top of the hill were once again shrouded in a gentle mist. Birds were quiet as the sun ceased its last burst upon the countryside, its glow fading amongst the valley, warmth blotted out, the house suddenly appearing gloomy and forlorn.
     'What will you do then?' Isabel  asked feeling a chill. Autumn was not far away, the nights drawing in, days were shortening. She sat motionless watching Susan, who seemed far away, lost in another world.
     'I'm not know Issy. Think I'll sell the house. I can't go on living here anymore, not after knowing about that poor child - never having a decent burial - lying there all alone. Yes, I've made up my mind. I'm going to sell. The house has felt cold, empty lately and the garden will become too much of a chore as I get older.'
      'Susan, I've been thinking. We know each other very well now and I'd love to offer my home as your home too. It's perfectly large enough so we can have our own space, and we can share the garden, even though it's smaller than this one, but plenty big enough to accommodate us both. What do you say?'
     'Oh Issy, I'm speechless! What a lovely thought! Thank you. You're such a dear. I may take you up on your kind offer. Give me a while to think about it.'
     She walked over to the window, looked out beyond the trees on the hill, thinking for several moments. She turned, a gentle smile upon her face. 'Alright. I've thought about it and don't need any more time. The answer is yes. If you're sure. It's an excellent idea! I would never have thought of it.'
     'Good! ' said Isabel smiling, walking over to give her friend a kiss to seal their tryst.  'Well that's settled then. You can sell this enormous place as and when you like and we'll see out the last of our days together.'
     Both ladies laughed at that and drank another cup of coffee.
    


    
    
    
    
    

Summer Sunday

It's quietly summer outside
When Sunday lies still and hot
An occasional bird comes visiting
Through the bending fig tree stops
Soon everyone's gone to the beach.

A singing with flapping wings
Within a heat haze searing
Blackbird seeks rest and moisture
None to be found he's fearing
But everyone's gone to the beach.

A rogue of a fly keeps buzzing
Throughout the long day passing
Soft breeze through waving grass
Oh end this summer soon asking
When everyone's gone to the beach.

Suffer ye not the dryness
Come autumn with misty breathing
When summer gives up its hold
The seasons soon to be freezing
Not everyone's gone to the beach.

Sunday seethes sapping the ground
Till moonbeams light my way
Casting silvery softness near
Upon life's pillow end of day
Everyone's home from the beach.

Monet's Field

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.

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. 

    

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.
      

    

The Half Dead Tree

     A large magpie sat atop its branches, half flew to the very peak of the tree, cawing loudly to whoever was listening; but no one was listening, as hardly a mouse twitched or a butterfly descended, it was so early morning.
     A soft breeze sprang from nowhere and sighed through what was left of the upper branches. One side of the half dead tree was totally dead, the other half, very much alive. There appeared a curious division from top to bottom, with no evidence as to what had killed off one half of the tree. The shape rounded like a pear as one gazed nonchalantly at its appearance, utterly mystified. The tree was tall, as the live half swayed back and forth in the gentle breeze, that whispered past its troubled boughs in the softness of the summer light.
     The magpie gave another warble from on high, flapped its wings which were black as coal, its breast glistening, white areas clean and bright, swooped downward, then flew across towards the park where it soon settled on a tall eucalyptus tree. Being summer, the eucalyptus like many, had shed a large proportion of its bark which lay around its large peeling trunk. Along a path under the trees, was littered many twigs, branches and fallen leaves. But the half dead tree somehow remained half alive that summer, it was not a known fact it would remain so next summer or the one following.
     An occasional storm presented itself in the form of darkening skies of deep blue and steel-grey clouds, white tipped, threatening the peace of shimmering heat that settled across the park and beyond, like night encroaching upon day. Native parrots screeched loudly as they passed above the half dead tree, fleeing from an oncoming storm, crossing native vegetation below and then over to the golf course on the other side of the meandering creek. Soon the rain came, sheeting down upon the tree, soaking its half dead branches turning them dark, the leaves on the other side glistening after the rain had passed, droplets of cool water dripping to parched earth below. The dead branches never swayed with the wind, but remained still, lifeless, glinting with raindrops.
     When the summer evenings settled on leafy branches, a pale pink hue emanated from the setting sun, casting its magic through the leaves as if the tree was soaking up its warmth and life. It was resplendent in the late afternoon light, almost glowing as a clifftop beacon alerting passing ships, the tree gave off a peacefulness.
     As the summer passed into autumn, days shortened, shadows lengthened, close to where the tree stood overlooking the native vegetation, where tall eucalyptus trees, acacias and other species grew larger with each passing year. 
     Mists formed above the mountain not far away, turning it from blue to mauve in the morning light, then hovered in the valley below, gathering in the park beside the walking path, settling along the surface of the creek where ducks idly paddled over its surface. Sometimes a damp and swirling mist blew mellow through the tree, partially enfolding it in dense moisture descended from the mountain above, where it took on a ghostlike appearance in the autumnal days.
     The nights became bleaker as autumn slowly turned to winter, the last golden leaves fluttered to the ground and the tree soaked up any rain that fell upon its roots. The winter months were never cold enough to whiten the half dead tree with snow, neither did it grow when the weather was cold. In fact, after winter had long gone, warmer days arrived, the half dead tree still maintained one half adorned with leaves as it was not deciduous, while the other half still looked dead, forlorn.
     As the years passed, seasons came and went, the half dead tree appeared to stay the same. The dead half remained dead, while the other half was healthy, unaffected by any further problems. It didn't resist the wind as the other half did, but eventually it grew further, strong and healthy, birds flitted through the boughs rejoicing upon its presence, they chirped to the moon and stars above during summer nights; blackbirds, doves and many native birds of the area, sang its song of life. its loveliness, beauty - its strength.

A Christmas Remembered

     Morning dawned warm, as a soft summer sun beamed pink above the distant horizon, close to the mauve-tipped hills, a promise of possible heat sent shimmering across native reserves, dewy from night that was quiet and still. The grass remained green until midsummer sun burned it brown, dry, lacking any moisture. Colourful parrots screeched among blue-green leaves of tall eucalypt trees in nearby parks, the creek flowing endlessly toward a lake.
     Under the warmth of a blue summer's day in the southern hemisphere, thoughts turned to how green was the valley, my valley in an English spring, when the wildflowers graced the high banks of Dorset lanes and in May, cow parsley grew tall beside narrow winding roads. Owls hooted in the still night air hunting for food, farm animals wandered in the higher lush field above the cottage in lengthening twilight of summer, munching on sweet grass, their udders swinging to and fro through the greenness.
     But as the year passed and autumn turned into winter, chestnuts having dropped in the lower woodland, lost amongst fallen leaves, pheasants swooped squawking over the garden and hedges, Christmas was imminent. The garden was going to sleep having been carpeted with the first of winter's snow, buried in frosty nights when the moon cast silvery beams over snowy fields, glistening like diamonds.
     Another gentle snowfall came quickly, unexpectedly, clouds scudded across the moon, shedding their whiteness falling softly upon the countryside, large flakes cascaded down from above where a darkened sky emptied itself upon the earth below. The snow-laden clouds spilling white crystals fluttering across small hills in my valley, forming a virginal carpet of winter whiteness, a unique beauty heralding Christmas that year.
     Snow sat thickly on tall pine trees and between them, pathways sprinkled with a dusting, looked peaceful, untouched except for small footprints of a passing fox, slinking through the night.
     Christmas, cold and frosty, the nights long, days short, with snow forming in the garden quietly, a turkey sizzled softly in the Aga, stuffed with great Granny's stuffing recipe. The pudding just made, awaited custard or cream to be poured over it. Outside, the air was sharp, but inside the cottage was warm, homely, with a crackling fire, carols were heard drifting from the radio. The children laughed and played with newly acquired games close to the Christmas tree, twinkling with small lights. Many greeting cards hung around doorways while holly and ivy adorned the old Welsh dresser and elsewhere. Tinsel and pretty silver baubles were entwined amongst the ivy, while a smell of pine wafted through the air from the tree in the corner of the sitting room. Coloured paper lay around the floor where the children had unwrapped their presents. 
     That particular Christmas brought memories flooding back, never to be experienced in the southern hemisphere where the warm sunshine never felt like Christmas in England and never would, but a different atmosphere was created, of childhood memories spent at the seaside, where the white sand met a pale green sea, the tide having gone out leaving pools and a sandbank to walk upon. A few shells were left close to the water's edge, bending now and picking one up, Christmas in England was but a distant memory.