Looking Her Best: A Magpie Tale/Hint Fiction Entry

It was always important to her to look her best.  Especially this one last time.

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So, Jayne offered us a writing challenge this past week.  Hint Fiction: a 25 word or less tale that leaves things open to interpretation.  Then today Tess put up this image as a Magpie Tales prompt.  The two go hand in hand!  Check out both their sites to see who else took up the gauntlet.

Time Marches On: A Magpie Tale

He sits on the bench, waiting for the inevitable.

There is no longer joy in his world.  That has long since disappeared from his life.  The things that used to give simple pleasures are also gone.  Waiting for something... anything... to happen has left him immobilized.  

As he contemplates his life, he believes his dreams of "someday..." are not going to happen.  He has become frozen in time, waiting to see how much time is left... and accomplishing nothing. 

If only he would just look up, raise his head to see what might be in front of him, he could forget the past and start anew.  He could make it happen.  If only he would just look up.

It doesn't take much more than a friendly voice to drown out the echoes of the past and the ticking of the clocks.  Hope remains for those who seek it.  There is still time.

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Tess over at Willow Manor has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Stop over to check out who else was inspired this week.

Annuit Coeptis: A Magpie Tale (for my 300th post)

In the midst of the 30 Days of Photographs III challenge, I realized I would hit my 300th blog post.  So here is my 300th original offering... it's appropriate that it is a Magpie prompt, as Magpies have become my favorite writing pieces.  Here's to many more glorious days...  

Who is it that watches over me, deciding whether I merit his approval?

I say I need no approval other than my own.

Take your all seeing eye and go back from whence you came.

For better or for worse, I vow to make my own choices

and I shall live with them to the end of my glorious days.

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Tess over at Willow Manor has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!

The Day the Music Died: A Magpie Tale

Venus and The Sailor, 1925, by Salvador Dali

She couldn't remember the day the music died for her.

In her youth, she'd dance for hours, singing along with the songs of her generation.  Her movements were fluid, vigorous and soulful.  There were no standard "dance moves" attached to this life force... just the motion.  It was wild and impulsive.

Then a kind of discipline crept into her world.  Just a hint here and there at first. 

Small bits of routine began to expand into a daily grind.  A paycheck to be generated.  Housework to attend to.  A husband who somehow guided her thoughts away from the music.  

Before she knew what happened, she stopped hearing the music.  Her body forgot how to move.  Injuries took away her muscle memory.  A heaviness invaded her soul.

Then there was silence.  The deep, pervasive silence that signals a kind of death.  The silence that winter brings.  

Yet she wasn't ready to give up.  She did what she had to do.  She gave up the job, the housework, the husband.  

Now she awaits a new spring.  And still hopes for one last dance.

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Tess over at Willow Manor has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!

Under Windsor Bridge: A Magpie Tale dedicated to Indigo Roth

Under Windsor Bridge, 1912, by Adolphe Valette

When she originally planned her birthday party at the Euthanasia Curry House, it had seemed a grand and glorious idea. Now she wasn't so sure.  Granted, the things she had heard about it and its exotic clientele had given her pause, but she was looking for a change and change she would have.  Her life had become so dull of late and she wanted to feel alive again. The fact that her birthday coincided with the Annual Evil Genius Scavenger Hunt only made the prospect of a very British birthday even more enticing.

So, the invitations had been sent, the cake ordered and the birthday frock taken out of storage.  The waiting was over and the time had come to meet her fate.

Would any of her guests actually show up?  Would there be gifts beyond what was gathered during the scavenger hunt?  Would her 60th birthday be her last?

The fog enveloped her as she took a deep breath and approached the figure in the bowler hat.  There was the faintest of rumblings and the ground began to shake beneath her.

With a flash of light, she was transported from Windsor Bridge to that mysterious and most elusive of villages, Slobbering-Under-the-Bed.

Could it be?  Was that...?

"Welcome, Madame," said Elliot Nesh.  "The rest of your party has already arrived.  Let the games begin..."

She thought to herself, "I am in my element.  This is what I was born for."  And with that, she stepped toward the scent of curry wafting out of the door.

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Tess over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  When I saw this week's prompt, it reminded me of another image by that mastermind, Indigo Roth.  If you haven't yet met Indigo, please  go introduce yourself... you'll be glad you did!

Good Dog: A Magpie Tale

Looks can be deceptive.

Walking down the wooded path, she knew she was late.  The shadows grew longer, then disappeared altogether as the sun sank behind the hills.  Twilight was approaching rapidly.

She loved finding a quiet spot in the woods to sit and read.  Her mother had cautioned her against staying out too long but she had become lost in her story and now she was alone, in the dark.  While the nearly full moon provided eerier shadows, it also provided just enough light for her to find her way.  Even so, each time the wind rustled the leaves or a twig snapped beneath her feet she startled, expecting some horrible creature to lurch out at her.

Ahead of her, the man in the ominous black hoodie walked down the darkened path with his black dog.  Not the hero in her book by any means.  She froze, not knowing whether to turn back or to keep walking, whether to look down or to meet the stranger's gaze head on.

The dog reached her first, tongue lolling and tail wagging.  To still her thundering heartbeat she stopped and put her hand out for the dog to sniff.  He graced her hand with a lick of hello and then sat before her, waiting.  The black dog's master approached cautiously, as though he didn't want to disturb her moment with his dog.  He stopped a respectful distance away.

"It's getting late... be careful out there," he said in a gentle voice.  With that he moved on, keeping a wide berth.  After one more caress with his tongue, the dog followed.

Something about the man's voice warmed her and gave her confidence.  She sensed there was something heroic about him after all.  She turned as they passed and gave a smile of recognition and of good-bye.  Then, without a word, she hurried on toward the light in the window where her mother was waiting.

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Tess over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!

Changing Gears: A Magpie Tale

Much as he tried, he couldn’t seem to change gears.  Clouded in ennui, it became more and more difficult simply to put one foot in front of the other.  Days turned into weeks and still there was no change in the weather. 

Until one morning he woke up and decided it was time to cut through the fog that had slowly enveloped him.  Digging deep within his soul, he parted the hardened surface to pry the stone from between the frozen gears. 

It was time to start moving again.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  This is actually a prompt that she posted some time ago.  I saved it, thinking I would write about it someday.  Months later, here it is... guess I just had to get my own gears moving again.

Automatons: A Magpie Tale

Lunch, George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art

Day after day they go to the cafeteria, bringing the remnants of last night's dinner.  The worker bees bend over their food intent on little other than consuming the meal that will sustain them through the next four hours until the clock signals quitting time.  Nothing ever changes nor do they expect it to.  The days blend into one another as time marches on.

It would only take one person to look up, to smile, to start a conversation, to open up the drab world and bring in the light.  But that would mean taking a risk.

Instead they opt for anonymity while sitting shoulder to shoulder.  Automatons at the automat.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did! 

Stuck: A Magpie Tale

Stuck in the mud

Wheels spinning

The more you try

The farther you sink 

Until you're totally immobilized 

Spring turns to summer 

And summer turns to fall

Rust begins to form

Yet you keep on fighting it

Sooner or later

It's best to give in

Get out of the truck

And walk back into town

Before winter closes in on you

And you're stuck there forever

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did! 

Unimaginable Terror: A Magpie Tale

The photo on the flea market table

struck terror into her heart.

The piercing eyes,

the eerie nimbus created by back-lighting,

the white line descending from her eye like a milky tear.

Terror.

Unimaginable fear.

The thought that in the end

the remnants of one's life

would be relegated to strangers

for a dollar ninety-nine

on a flea market table.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did! 

Beautiful Stories: A Magpie Tale

From the time she was a little girl, she loved books.  There weren't many books written specifically for children back then.  The first book she ever owned, that was hers alone, she won in a contest at school.  She pored over the pages of Edith Nesbit's Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare, savoring each word, each illustration.  It introduced her to the intriguing world of the bard and it was her most treasured possession.

From that point on, she was never without a book.  When she established her own home, she found five feet of shelf space to accommodate the Harvard Classics.  She became a "regular" at the local library, carrying home stacks of books each week.  When children came along, she read them A.A. Milne at bedtime until they could recite "James James Morrison Morrison..." by heart.  That one small volume created a safe haven for banishing bad dreams.  She taught her children that books could take them anywhere and teach them anything.

The more she read, the more she dreamed of seeing the world.  She finally realized that dream in her middle years, bringing back mementos that would trigger a memory here, a story to be told there.  It always came back to the stories.
 
In the end, books became her last refuge.  Her world became smaller as her hearing faded.  When she could no longer follow conversations, she was left with her books.  They never failed her.  Through them her life remained rich and as always, full of beautiful stories.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did! 

Echoes of the Past: A Magpie Tale

The symphony is over.  Now, for the walk home.  The rain has stopped and a haze begins to rise from the brick walkway.  Cloaked in the miasma of time, she drifts into thought.

Years ago as a newlywed, she walked down this same path with her husband toward their pied-a-terre near the symphony hall.  Back then, secure on the arm of her husband, she delighted in being cloaked in the mist.  It created a special world just for them.  The echoes of the other theater goers' footsteps faded into the background as they created their own magical space, filled with joy and contentment. 

Tonight the footsteps once again fade away, but not because of the security of being loved.  Most symphony patrons have drifted toward the parking ramp that was built next to the grand theater.  She, alone, walks in the opposite direction toward the faded glory of her apartment building.  Her footsteps on the deteriorating bricks of the walkway echo in the mist to remind her she is alone.  Harry has been gone these twenty years but she is still there, walking the same path.  It's moments like these that she feels him still with her. 

A second set of footsteps begins to echo in the darkness.  For a moment she thinks it might be Harry.  But no, that can't be.  The neighborhood's not what it used to be and her heart begins to race as the footsteps get closer.  Her fingers tighten on the sequined bag that holds her opera glasses and she begins to walk faster.  The sound bounces off the walls of the tall buildings around her, making it impossible to discern the direction of the footsteps.  As her pace quickens, so does the stranger's.  Whoever it might be is gaining on her.

A man emerges from the darkness and her heart skips a beat.  But it's only the aged doorman, stepping out from the apartment building to usher her in from the mist.  He's been watching for her to be sure she gets home safely.  His kindly smile brings her back to her present reality... in which she is alone with her memories.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this holiday week.  You'll be glad you did! 

Each Night A Child Is Born: Mapgpie #45

I'm not a particularly religious person in the traditional sense.  So when it comes to Christmas, I celebrate the wonder of the child in all of us.  Willow's Magpie prompt this week brings to mind a poem by Unitarian minister and religious educator, Sophia Lyon Fahs.   What a wonderful way to honor children everywhere.

For so the children come
And so they have been coming.
Always in the same way they come—
Born of the seed of man and woman.
No angels herald their beginnings
No prophets predict their future courses
No wise men see a star to show
where the babe is that will save humankind
Yet each night a child is born is a holy night.
Fathers and mothers—sitting beside their children’s cribs—
feel glory in the sight of a new life beginning.
They ask where and how will the new life end—will it never end
Each night a child is born is a holy night—a time for singing
A time for wondering, a time for worshiping.
~Sophia Lyon Fahs

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this holiday week.  You'll be glad you did! 

Of Snowflakes and Rosebuds: Magpie #44

When does childhood end and adulthood commence?  Perhaps it's when snow days become a source of angst instead of sheer joy.

In childhood a snow day means freedom!  Freedom to stay in your pajamas until late in the morning. Then it's into snowsuits and caps and mittens and boots to explore the world of wonder created by freshly fallen snow.  It's building snow caves and sliding down hills.  It's making snow angels and snowmen and catching snowflakes on your tongue.  It's shrieks of laughter as compact orbs of snow fly back and forth through the air.  It's the steaming hot cocoa with marshmallows that awaits you when you return to the warmth of your house.  A snow day is magical!

The magic begins to fade when snow days mean having to get up early and shovel so you can get to work in time.  Back breaking labor takes all the fun out of watching the snow fall.  It means brushing off the car and hoping the locks aren't frozen.  Turning the key in the ignition, praying the car actually starts.  And then edging the car through the snow covered streets, hoping you don't get stuck or slide into another intrepid traveler before you reach your destination.  It takes a special person to actually enjoy this kind of activity. 

But every once in awhile, a funny thing happens.  The planets align so that a snow day happens on a day off.  You have a chance to enjoy the beauty of the snowflakes from the comfort of your easy chair while enjoying that first cup of coffee of the day.  The world once again looks magical and it brings back memories of days gone by.... of sleds named Rosebud and the joy of childhood.  And life is good.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!

Travels with Hanuman: A Magpie Tale

As I was sorting through my mother's belongings after her death, I came across a little medallion in a blue pouch.  It was a tiny brass image of Hanuman, the monkey king.  My mother had apparently picked it up when she was in India.  Wrapped up with it was a necklace made of misshapen pearls. 

My parents traveled a lot over the years after I left home.  They loved meeting people and welcomed many others into their home.  A string of foreign exchange students stayed with them and they visited each of their homes in return.  As they traveled around the world, my parents were showered with gifts from the people they met.  So many, that they were unable to keep them all.  Often they became gifts for their hosts on the next stop on their journey.

So what was special about the little Hanuman medallion that it was kept while other things were re-gifted?  And where did the necklace come from?  We were even more surprised when my Dad said he'd never seen the necklace before.  He remembered getting the medallion when they visited an old friend in India, but not the necklace.

Curiosity got hold of me and I looked up the story of Hanuman in the Ramayana.  He emerged as a selfless champion who served Rama, rescuing his wife Sita.  Later, Hanuman also saved the life of Lakshmana by bringing him a life-saving herb.  Hanuman never asked for anything in return, but Sita gifted him with a string of precious stones. 

When my mother died, my father received condolences from around the world from people whose lives my mother had touched.  The outpouring was incredible.  And then there was the necklace.  None of us know where it came from, but I like to imagine it was a gift from Sita, thanking my mother for the impact she had on others' lives.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!

Autumn Leaves

I love the fall.  There's something about the smell of leaves on a bright, crisp, sunny day.  Those days when a sweater feels good, but the sun can still warm you up enough to leave the sweater unbuttoned as you crunch through the leaves. 

Vlad was born in the fall 23 years ago on October 8th.  He was originally slated to arrive mid to late September, but showed up 2 1/2 weeks past my due date.  At the time I was beginning to think he was never coming out of there.  But, he finally did.  His first outing was to the pumpkin patch when he was about a week old.  I remember taking him in the Snugli and having a little old lady chastise me for not having a cap on his little head.  He had about three hairs at the time.  Now I can't drive past a pumpkin patch without thinking about that day. 

Vlad's coming home this afternoon and we're going to go for a walk at the Thousand Acre Swamp together.  It was his choice for how to celebrate his birthday.  We'll crunch through the leaves and enjoy each others' company.   With luck, we might spot a deer in the woods.  Then we'll come back to the house for some apple cider and talk about the past year and all that he's accomplished.

I can't think of a better way to spend a fall day!

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did! 

Burning the Midnight Oil: A Magpie Tale

Whatcha doin' grandpa? 

Just burning the midnight oil.

What do you mean?  It's not that late.  Why are you burning oil? 

It's just an expression we used to use when I was your age.  It means working late into the night.

But why oil?

Because before we had electricity, we used oil lamps in this old farmhouse.

Oh, you mean back in the olden days.

Yep, I guess so...

You really are old grandpa, aren't you?

Ah, my lovely, you have no idea.

Do you still have the oil lamp?

Sure do!  It's over in the cupboard.

Can we get it out?

You bet.

Grandpa?

What, dear?

I like burning the midnight oil with you.

I can't think of anyone else I'd rather burn it with.  Come on now, let's tuck you into bed.  It's late.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!

Dazed and Confused: A Magpie Tale

The fall left her dazed and confused. 

She tried to remember where she was and how she got there.  She thought it had something to do with gold.  But all she could see as she looked up was the rusted pipe protruding from the cellar wall. 

Her legs wouldn't move and her arms ached.  The years of cringing with suspicion had left her stiff and sore. 

The last thing she could remember was counting coins.  Shimmering gold coins that represented her life savings.  Coins that were kept safe in the cellar, away from the banks she mistrusted.   Must put them back in the cellar.  Away from prying eyes. 

Again she tried to rise.  To reach the pipe in the wall to pull herself up.  No use. 

Her family had told her she was being silly, that banks were safe.  But she had lived through the Depression.  She knew what she was talking about.  They were the ones being silly.

As she gazed at the pipe, she began to see herself in it, the rust and oxidation mirroring her own corrosion.  The corrosion that no one would see again because it was tucked away in the cellar.  Tucked away with the gold coins, now scattered about the floor.   Tucked away, safe and secure... where no one would find them.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!

The Secret Garden: A Magpie Tale

Summers long ago were a time of wonder.  Each morning we would go outside, waving good-bye to our mother and opening the gate to run with glee down to the lower back yard.  To anyone else, it looked like a run down bit of pasture, but to us it was where our world would transform into a land of fairy tale and adventure.  It was our own secret garden.  Magical things could happen there.


The tools of fantasy were simple... old scarves for the capes of kings and queens, a stick for a hero's sword, a basket to hold the mud pies to take to grandmother's house, an old watering can to nourish the magic beans we found in our garden.

Weeping willow branches hid us from the outside world and the creek became an ocean to be navigated, the little rise of sand a desert island.  Old, crumbling outbuildings became castles or dungeons.

Years later, I returned to this secret garden to share it with my son and was amazed by how small it was.  No longer the vast, wondrous world of my childhood but the run down bit of pasture it had always been to those without our imagination.  Yet, I can still picture the magic that happened there.  All I have to do is close my eyes and dream.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!

The Fruit Stand: A Magpie Tale

It began as a simple camping trip with friends.  The day they left to return to town, I ventured into the local village to pick up a few supplies for my last night at the campground.  The fruit stand beckoned me with its hand written signs:  "Fresh Peaches" and "Sweet Corn."

After I pulled off the road, it seemed strange that there weren't many baskets of fruits and vegetables on the table.  Most of the tables were filled with root-bound flowers in old pots. A dilapidated building with a tin roof stood behind the sad array of produce.  Equally dilapidated and misshapen additions were attached to the sides, much like the pop-up campers back at the campground.  Chicken wire covered what was left of the windows.

As I selected a small basket of peaches, the old woman who came out of the even older building rattled off a litany of what other fruits and vegetables were available.  Look at the onions... no soft spots on those. The muslin dress, sprigged with tiny blue flowers, hung loosely on her. Tomatoes are nice and ripe... $2 a basket.  Both her hair and body were wiry and one of her front teeth was missing.  Nectarines are nice and sweet.  The remaining teeth reminded me of yellow and white sweetcorn.  We have fresh picked Silver Queen inside, $4 a dozen.  She kept talking as she transferred the peaches I selected to a brown paper bag.  Give the money to the boy. 

I turned and saw a slightly younger man I hadn't noticed before. Likely her son, if the matching dentition was anything to go by.  His hair was a dark blond and was cut unevenly.  The overalls he wore had large pockets to hold the bills and coins I handed to him.  He and his mother looked like they'd just stepped out of a Dorothea Lange photograph, while I felt like I'd just stepped into one. 

Fresh sweet corn inside.  Perhaps I could use a few ears of corn after all.  My son would enjoy that for dinner when I get home tomorrow night.  So, is your son camping with you?  He's working this week, but will be home tomorrow.  There's some summer squash over here... got both yellow and green.  No thank you, this will be plenty enough for tonight.  Kids these days don't get enough fresh air.  Yes, camping is great for kids.  The corn is inside the building.  Were you caught in that thunder storm last night?  Yeah, that was pretty wild!   How old is your son?  Twenty two.  Did you say he was camping with you?  She falls into step behind me as I move closer to the building.   

I wandered into the building after the young man.  There was even less inside than there was outside.  No corn in sight, but then it was hard to see anything in the gloom.  The boy will have to bring it out for you... it's in the back room.  Old fruit crates stack the walls as though they're the only thing holding them up.  So, you say you're camping by yourself?

As I sit on an old fruit crate, staring at the door in front of me, I wonder again how I came to be in such a predicament.  The lock stares back at me, the scratches that I've made on it mirroring the blood vessels in my eyes.  There's nothing to do but sit and wait.  The muslin dress, sprigged with tiny blue flowers, hangs loosely on me now.  It's getting hard to remember what I wore the day I stopped at the fruit stand so many months ago.  Loneliness does such strange things to people.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!