Snow – Haiku

The Word of the Day is SNOW, and I thought it was time for this post to have another airing. 🙂

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2021/01/17/snow/

Snow is falling now

Will it keep me trapped inside?

Or set my soul free?

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 17/March/2018

Twittering Tales – Broken Empathy

broken-1391025_1280

Photo by paulsbarlow7@pixabay.com

 

Her instinct told her something was wrong. Then she saw the white powdered glass, like snow that glittered on the path, then the broken window.

What hurt most was the message written in ink across her white kitchen tiles that showed a lack of empathy.

“Thanks for the hospitality”.

[280 Characters]

This story was written for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales Challenge,

see link below:

Twittering Tales #137 – 21 May 2019

 

I have also included the following word prompts:

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/05/21/rdp-tuesday-sub-snow/

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/05/21/hospitality/

https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/05/21/your-daily-word-prompt-empathy-may-21-2019/

FOWC with Fandango — Instinct

 

A Snowy time in the Peak District

A couple of weekends ago I spent a few days up in the Peak District, which is in Northern England.

I actually stayed near Macclesfield, which is in the county of Cheshire, not far from the City of Manchester, but most of the Peak District is in the county of Derbyshire.

At the time, we had a smattering of snow where I live, but nothing much. Up in this part of the peaks however, it was another story. They had had a couple of feet of snow a few days before I arrived, and with day temperatures remaining below zero centigrade here, it wasn’t going anywhere.

It does make for some lovely pictures and I thought I would share them with you.

 

IMG_3320IMG_3325IMG_3346IMG_3354

This is the old Victorian gardens in the Town of Buxton in Derbyshire.

IMG_3361IMG_3370IMG_3372IMG_3376IMG_3381IMG_3408IMG_3410

This is the sign for the Cat and Fiddle pub, which is on one of the high spots on the road from Macclesfield to Buxton. Sometimes, this road is closed in the winter.

IMG_3422

 

This is the town of Bakewell in Derbyshire, a few miles south of where I was staying. They didn’t have any snow here at all. This is where the famous Bakewell Tarts and Puddings come from, so I had to stop off to buy a few.

IMG_3436

I hope you like the pictures.

Have a great weekend. 🙂

 

Finish the Story – Dec #4 – The Snow Angel,

Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith has tagged me in one of her brilliant Finish the Story challenges.

https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2018/12/13/finish-the-story-dec-4/

Rules

  1. Copy the story as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)
  2. Add somehow to the story in which ever style and length you choose
  3. Be sure to pingback or comment on the original post please. Please use the tag THWFTS.
  4. Tag only 1 person to continue the story
  5. Have fun!

Part One: 

Harriet loved the Christmas season. Everything went up Thanksgiving evening and didn’t come down until New Year’s Eve. People could see her Christmas tree from the other end of the block. 

This year, Harriet’s theme was the snow angel. Her tree was flocked with white, glistening snow and decorated with cherubs and angels of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Tiny angels surrounded snowmen on the mantle and Santa even had a young angel girl riding in the sleigh with him, while Mrs. Claus entertained a Snow Angel Brownie troop back at the North Pole.

Her house was filled with Christmas music and everywhere she looked, there was joy. Everywhere except in her heart. No one knew how lonely Harriet was and how much she longed for company. Oh, neighbors would stop at the door when caroling and families would wave as they walked past, but none came to visit.

Two weeks before Christmas a snowstorm struck the town and left behind nearly a foot of snow. Mr. Chen and Mr. Howard were kind enough to snowplow the neighborhood’s sidewalk. They salted the main walk and all the way up to Harriet’s door. 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said as they tossed a final handful of salt on her porch. “Would you like to come in for hot chocolate?”

The two men smiled and made their apologies for not having time, and went on their way. Harriet understood, but was saddened just the same. She closed her front door and went into the kitchen to pour herself a cup. While looking out the back window, she gasped. 

“Well, I wonder who made that,” she said. “It’s a perfect snow angel.”

She looked around for footprints, but there were none. Just a perfect little angel in the snow.

Part two:

Then as she stood there in her pink woollen cardigan, with her slippers slowly getting wet from the melting snow, Harriet, gazed up and saw something amazing, something magical.

As Angel hovered in the sky, just by her old Oak tree, flapping its white’s wings. He was a male angel, who looked quite old and had a lopsided golden halo over his bald head.

“Oh, Excuse me. I do apologise for making an impression in the snow. I’ve not had these wings for very long and I jumped out of your tree, but didn’t get the hang of them in time, so I landed face down in your garden. I am sorry. I’m just so clumsy, I fumble all the time.”

Slightly bewildered, Harriet gaped open-mouthed and just managed to mumble “That’s quite alright”.

“My Names Clarence. What’s yours?” he flew down towards her and held out his hand then awkwardly nearly knocked her over. 

“I’m Harriet,” she said as she shook his hand. It was warm and he had a nice friendly smile, so she decided to be hospitable. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?” she offered.

“Well, that’s very kind of you. Yes, I would, very much. I haven’t had a good cup of tea in simply ages.”

As she put the kettle on, she heard banging coming from the living room. He certainly was a very clumsy Angel.

Clarence had knocked over her easel and there was paint all over the floor. He picked up her latest picture, it was a painting of the local park, with the ducks on the pond and some children playing with a toy boat.

“Did you paint this?” Clarence asked.

“Yes, yes I did. Do you like it?” Harriet was so pleased. She had learned to paint at college and had always enjoyed it, but no one had ever come in for long enough for her to show her paintings to. They were mostly of the local area, they usually had children in them.

“I think it is a masterpiece,” Clarence said, “I think you need to share this with other people. In fact, I’ve made up my mind, I am going to……”

To be continued …….


So Who shall I pass the Baton on to? Who would like to have a go? 

How about Sadje at Keep it Alive? 

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/12/13/masterpiece/

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/12/13/rdp-thursday-fumble/

The Gift of Guilt – Short Story

Quietly the man crept through the trees. Carefully treading to avoid making the slightest sound. The ground was covered in snow, which had turned the forest, usually dark and foreboding, into a white wonderland. The clean smell of the fresh snow mingled with the aroma of pungent pine needles. The low flumf as he gently placed his feet and walked further and deeper into the wood. The snow muffled his steps but also clearly marked where he had been for all to see, but hopefully no one will find them until tomorrow and he would be far from here by then.

There in a dense thicket he saw what he was looking for. The most beautiful Norway spruce with the ideal shape and standing 9 feet tall. It would make the perfect Christmas tree to go in the entrance hall of his house.

Pulling out the axe he had concealed in his jacket he set to chopping at the leg thick trunk of the tree. The noise echoed amongst the trees but would also deaden the sound so that no one outside this thicket would hear much at all.

The man maintained a steady rhythm with his axe, never faltering or hesitating. Eventually the great tree gave way. The sound of the crack as the trunk snapped then followed by the roar as the tree collapsed to the ground.

Without hesitation the man began dragging the tree back towards his parked car and trailer.

He could never understand why people spent a fortune buying Christmas trees when they could drive into a forest and claim one for free. He supposed he should feel guilty but he didn’t. Guilt was not an emotion that came easily to him.

As he yanked the tree over the snow-covered ground, he looked back and saw that when the tree had fallen, it had dislodged a large nest. Two white doves lay against the snow, their necks broken and fresh bright red blood was spreading around them.

The sight triggered that emotion that he had hardly ever experienced. For the first time since his youth, he felt guilty. Tears actually fell from his eyes. He collapsed to his knees in the snow and wept. Not just for the doves he had killed, but for all the other things his selfish acts had caused over the years. He had never taken full responsibility for his actions, now his chickens had come home to roost. His partner who stood by him, but who he’d never felt the need to be faithful to. His children who he never prioritised and treated like inconveniences, only spending money on them to get rid of them. It wasn’t just the tree that had come crashing down but his whole world. The forest had weaved a kind of magic upon him, a spell that cleared away his ego and allowed him to feel that underrated but necessary human emotion of guilt.

He left the tree, went back to his car and drove home, a changed man. Changed for the better.

That Christmas was the best Christmas he’d ever had. He had received the gift of guilt and it made his life so much better.

The End

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 25/April/2018