Arch #writephoto




For centuries the great abbaye had stood, in its majesty and glory, in the peaceful landscape. It was then a centre of faith and science, where wise men worked, and kept the flame of civilisation burning. They were frugal, up in the frosty mornings before dawn, ploughing the fields and teaching the children; their chants filled the vales and forests, rising to the sky.

Then the heretics had come, plundering, burning, torturing the faithful. A dark veil had fallen on the earth, the Dark Lord’s reign had begun.

But today, in the faint light of dawn, I can hear the monks’s voices, the soft footsteps of their sandals. I sense their presence, their curiosity, even, about this strange creature, this human being who survived the fall. Their anthem is but a light breeze through the icy air.

The arch stands, witness to a millennium of folly. And there, on the cold stones, I kneel, praying to the true God, in submission and piety, the last, shivering survivor of the war, that ended the evil empire.

Dedicated to the builders of the great abbayes of Yorkshire, and their defenders.

Dark #writephoto




Perhaps it was how it had to be:

The landscape reflected his soul, deep in sorrow,

For mourning was now the only feeling left…

Yet, through the clouds,

A sun ray could be seen,

Reflected in the calm water of the lake.

He thought how deep that water was,

Time would tell if he would find again

The warmth of a happy summer.

Between #writephoto




It was a wonderful day, walking along the ancient path, through the beloved hills. Closer to the village, a helpful farmer had left the way clear, in the middle of the fields of colza. The scent of the crop was strong in the cool air. They stopped, looking at each other.

“We will remember this instant of peace,” she said slowly, “when winter is back, and the ground is frozen…”

He smiled, and took her hand. “Not that long ago, I remember climbing that hill in the snow… And it must have been with you!” They laughed.

Sanctuary #writephoto




“This is exactly how I remembered the mausoleum,” she told him, as they crossed the immaculate lawn. “The trees are a lot taller… so many years have passed since our parents used to come here with us kids…”

“I no longer know whose statue it is,” replied her brother, “I just know we liked running around it, pretending that above the steps we were safe from the monsters, down in the woods!”

“You can see, the park is a lot smaller than in our memories! Then, we imagined all sorts of creatures living in the deep jungle, beyond our sanctuary…”

“… And now, now we know that there is no amazing creature, just us, and the birds, perhaps even a few squirrels!”

They smiled at each other, a very old couple revisiting their childhood.


Distant #writephoto




Around them the circle of stones would be their refuge, their protectors against the demons of the night. She looked away toward the snow-covered hills:

“There will be our home. In the morning we will cross those fields, and then climb up. But tonight we will rest. The ancient warriors are there: look! They were expecting us…”

She showed him the stones, some erect, some lying, as if asleep.

He felt, somehow, reassured: they were now in her country, not so far from them, he knew, they would soon meet her tribe. He would follow the rites. He would shed his blood. Later, they would receive him in their rank.

Later still, they would have a child.

Crow #writephoto




We have known each other for a long time. In the garden of the small house, some distance from here, she used to perch in the old tree, just in the corner, and was able to follow my progress in the morning, making coffee, in the kitchen. Often the Crow and I looked at each other, appreciating each other’s company, and the morning peace.

When we moved here she gave me a recommendation for her jackdaw cousins (large birds with streaks of white on their bellies), who inhabit this neighbourhood, and, to tell the truth, most of the city’s parks and streets.

I think she has a beneficial influence on us, and I have concluded she’s in fact a guardian angel. Her speech is always to the point, sober, if not melodious. I trust her judgement, and whenever she’s unhappy, so am I.

In the little garden we had hilarious moments, for example when she, and her sisters, kept a watch on the local heron… For she’s a good fighter, she looks after her partner and family, and don’t bother her neighbours.

I wish all humans were like her.



Photo: the Crow and the Heron © Honoré Dupuis, 2012

The game they play #fivewords

Weekly Writing Challenge #123




The pale sun light reflects on the pages of the book open on the table. From where she stands, she sees the children playing, beyond the garden, she hears their laughter, she can guess at the pretend war which is their game.

She, and they, have escaped: the real war is now far away. By this act of courage, or was it despair? – she’s saved them.

Image: the Celtic Tree

Window #writephoto




The house is still there, and the roses. How happy we were then, how beautiful was our life, the sun was shining everyday…

This is what I want to remember, now, after all those years. Of course, I’d like to travel back, to erase what went on, to start again. I want to see your face, your smile, your invitation, at the little window. I want to be that other me, the good and wise one, which I became, finally, but then, still young, still loved by you.

But years have passed. I am wise, and old, soon I’ll be gone.

Alone, the house will stand, children will look out of the window, to a fresh morning, inhaling the perfume of red roses.

Blue #writephoto




So far away… Yet this is now home, the shelter where we can repair, rebuild our strength. 

Here they won’t find us, such a small planet, and a pale star, insignificant: on the edge of the known world, and the sea…

The blue ocean will hide us, we will build a village on these shores, our children will learn here, they will learn about Earth, and the Republic.

Then, one day, perhaps in generations, they will take again to the stars, and leave this world.

But, for now, the blue planet is our home.


Inspired by Sue Vincent’s last photo prompt of 2017, and a viewing of The Last Jedi.

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