Friday, 27 February 2015

the weekend in black & white: angel at Bourganeuf church

angel, bourganeuf, black and white, Creuse, Limousin, France, religion, photography,
Angel


photography copyright: De Tout Coeur Limousin



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stories so far: moonlight song


The blanket of blue black midnight sky was pierced by the light of the moon. He could hear the wolves howling in the distance. Gathered together and singing to the sky. The stars were bright and beautiful but he had no time to stop and appreciate them. He needed to keep moving. He didn't know where he was or how long he had been walking for. He was a large man, over 6ft tall and carrying too much weight for his frame. There was comfort in his size, but also a defence and place to hide.  What he was looking for now.

He needed to keep moving. He wasn't sure where he was going but he needed to get away from the noise in his head. He hadn't meant to do it.

Walking deeper into the forest, the boggy soft ground making every step harder than the last. The enveloping earth battling with him, refusing to make the journey easy for him.

The sound of the rushing river could be heard in the distance - he thought if he followed that he would get to the lake. He would know his way from there. He wasn't lost, but he had no particular destination either - just far away, and as quickly as possible. He wanted to forget what had happened, 

The rushing sound of the river grew louder. Stumbling through the bramble and fallen tree trunks. The smell of dead brackish water and rotting wood was in the air. It was a cold January night and he was only dressed in a thin t-shirt and trousers. He hadn't time to get dressed properly. He carried on until he arrived at the shores of the lake. He stopped to catch his breath.

The air around him stopped. The wind that had been rushing through the trees was no more. A whisper of a song trailed gently over the water. It comforted and warmed him.  He was in a vacuum, contained in his space - only hearing her voice. It sounded like love. 

His wife used to sing to him. In the early days, when she still cared. She used to love him. 

The words and chattering voices fogged his mind again.  The song across the lake got louder. He stopped thinking. The song beckoned him to carry on walking. He didn't question it. The dark, black water filled his eyes, nose & lungs. He asked for forgiveness as her hand entwined in his and pulled him further down into the lake. Falling and falling - a silent peace. 






Nikki Young Writes

ImagesByCW Photography

Prose for Thought

mumturnedmom




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Sunday, 22 February 2015

my sunday photo



photograph copyright: De Tout Coeur Limousin


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Saturday, 21 February 2015

stories so far: the deckchair & the snail

60 years in love
Mown grass, sunk in deckchairs, tea
The snail slithers on.


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Nikki Young Writes

ImagesByCW Photography

Prose for Thought




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Tuesday, 17 February 2015