Tales from the edge of the morning sky

Send us Fan Mail A cat, a snake, a grill - a tale  from Route 66 Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback! p1964km@googlemail.com

Send us Fan Mail Walking May Walking  the flower  garden,  this opening  of spring,  listening  to birdsong, the wind  and trees that sing,  for the sky  is so blue  a blessing this May, for June  is approaching  and summer will be here For ever  and more. For Today. Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing...

Send us Fan Mail Spring in the Garden of May. Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback! p1964km@googlemail.com

Send us Fan Mail Even if I… Even if  the sun, I feel  were blind,  I would like  to hold  your face  in the quiet  of my hands,  and trace  just once, my fingers  upon the tributaries  and streams,  of the life  that has become the beautiful  you,  to feel  a thousand stories, journeys  and emotions, joining  a stream, a flow, of stars, to a river of journeys,  that I cherish in wonder that I feel...

Send us Fan Mail For if there is, truly, a Spring  in winter  let me drink  then, deeply of your  beautiful eyes  to see the dawn  of morning blue, for laughter  is the sunlight of March that rises, beautifully  in the blossom of life that is simply being and walking, the path with you. Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or t...

Send us Fan Mail They He pulled. Felt her hand in his. Remembering her taste. Her smell. The way her body cleaved into his. His into hers. Mustiness.  Earth.  Wonder.  Urgency. The earth crumbled around him. It matted his arms, legs and lower back.  His hair.  His beard.  He sat up. Felt the dull ache, the throb of life to be given fill his awakening being with her.  To her. She could see him now....

Send us Fan Mail February Afternoon The sun sets long shadows, cast the distance  upon the broken  garden wall But amongst  the cracks, the silence, beneath  the settling dusk  of late afternoon  A blackbird sings, his voice catching  my tears  one by one as softly,  gently  the rain begins to fall. Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some furthe...

Send us Fan Mail S(he) He was awakening. The stiffness of sleep held him tight within its arms. The winter stars were wrapped in sheathes of time about his legs and lower body. From somewhere outside of himself he could feel a growing sense of urgency. A warmth. A remembering. He needed to remember. Wanted to remember. But a great fog of darkness still held him. Whispered to him. Wanted him to rem...

Send us Fan Mail She (1) She was not sure when it started. A cold day perhaps. Long shadows. Early evening. She could feel in her memories the wind blow cool from the mountains around the valley. A shiver of possibilities across the lengthening dusk. Maybe it was then. When the first stars blinked across the skies, the first street lights flickered and then failed. ‘Yes. Perhaps it was then,’ she...

Send us Fan Mail A Sleepy Summer Afternoon It’s a lazy,  sleepy afternoon,  the villages  are empty,  flowers, in colours  of summer,  curtsy and nod  in the baking sunlight, radiating off walls  and shimmering rooftops, and, as if uplifted,  a single buzzard flies  and swoops overhead.  It’s so warm,  the distance  is translated,  from far and away,  to the here  and now:  a band of  light above ...

Send us Fan Mail She could see their forms shiver and shimmy. She stepped closer. Her self belief was not unsurprised by what she was seeing: two people bound together by time, place-and not a little love. The wind whispered again, hushing her doubts aside  as she stepped closer towards them. She could see through their opaqueness: the edge of the lagoon, and the grey-blue waters still and quiet u...

Send us Fan Mail She turned and walked back from the beach. Everyone had long since gone. The storm had passed, the skies were  clear once again, and the wind had settled into restful sighs across the silver birches. The trees were still and yet crooked, bent and twisted with their boughs and branches in repose after surviving another bout with the seasonal storms that raced up this battered coast...

Send us Fan Mail He paused, scratched his head with his pen, as if to recall something he had forgotten  ‘…and,’ he stuttered,‘something has turned up at the church, over the last few months, we’ve had reports of moving lights at night. Youths probably, come down from the caravan park, drinking, playing ghosts, larking around.’ She turned fully and looked him directly in the face.  ‘He is young, a...

Send us Fan Mail Kent The cherry blossom  fell, along  the garden paths,  and  upon others,  that lay,  still, quiet  and hidden,  among the thickening shadows,  beneath  the stretching hands  of trees.  For he walked,  slowly now,  remembering footsteps  of those  who walked  with him,  upon evenings, like this one,  warmth in the heart  of sunlight,  his treasure  of life  this time, and memorie...

Send us Fan Mail A fist of leaves For is not time dawn itself? Having shaken the stars from a now empty sky, she now races to catch the night before the call of day, dancing, skipping, gathering the shadows fleeing before her catch, her catch gathered in a bag, in fists of leaves and abandoned trees, the rooftops reflect and mirror the first touch of sunlight, the slow rise of breakfast fires, the...

Send us Fan Mail The helicopter flew low, hovering above the breaking tide. The ship was a bleached skeleton of former seaworthiness. Fragments of sail and broken masts, collapsed and shattered, lay at broken angles and forgotten shapes, upon the seaweed and barnacle encrusted former deck. The press had long since left. Leaving a sense of puzzlement and cheapness amongst the temporary beach comber...

Send us Fan Mail The Wasp It’s colder now, wings heavy, skies too grey for warmth life, and blossom, and still the wasp moves, struggling in spluttering steps across the broken stones. The fruits have fallen, time and leaf lie together, upon the frozen, naked ground. And though summer has passed away, and the dark is growing, through the clouded broken glass, I can still see the garden, the empty...

Send us Fan Mail War is  and coming, a thunder-scratch across humanity’s  eye Evil rises,  the black hooded horror  of blindness  an endless serpent  swallowing,  screaming  death no more Ravens circle,  life. ravenously  Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback! p1964km@googlemail....

Send us Fan Mail The Meadow A meadow full  of memories,  the faded colours  of summer, rest  upon the skeletal  hands and leaves,  for summer whispers  to autumn: ‘For now is here, take this, my time away, for I wish not  yet for Spring,  for fall  and sleep I must, to dream again come May.’ Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics...

Send us Fan Mail Here He somehow felt the woman sag aside him. Heard a sigh of incredulity and the dull low growl of the two dogs, as he himself turned and looked for himself in the direction of the storm. Then ‘It is done,’ Emily whispered, exhausted into his ear. Her voice as far away as the time he’d left behind.’The rest will come back upon the next tide- and then all will be counted upon the...

Send us Fan Mail This is a place of slow time, with a sky that reaches above a sudden, empty wind, with the hidden stars, turning beacons of light upon eons of eternity, above the pointing fingers of an ancient forest, and below, amongst the leaves and acorns, amongst the lengthening shadows of the last emptiness of summer days, there lies a small cup of life and this time, this now, is placed upo...

Send us Fan Mail Six bells It was upon the six bells tolling across the darkness that opened the day with a yawn, October stretched, shook, and chased the light rain off his skin. It was cooler now.  He passed his invisible hands through the pools of shimmering stars, sprinkling their light across his earth stained face, rubbed their promises of frost and early snow through his branches and wrinkl...

Send us Fan Mail Falling With warm winds  that bring each autumn,  summer’s last breath  falls across  the fields, October lies,  fallow, beneath the stars  as gently,  slowly,  the season turns  and bids  farewell, with winter’s call  to yield. For above  and beyond  the empty  hands, the crowning grace  of trees, a pale moon  full, across the hidden  the skies, pulls the shadows  behind the last...

Send us Fan Mail Suddenly (Autumn) All of a sudden, summer, picked up his bags of sun and flowers, and left along the garden path, beneath the blustery shadows of a billowing emptying, racing sky. He turned to the hidden brook and glanced sadly at the rushing memories of what was, to what might have been. And in the places between the two, he smiled to himself, and knowing far better, he shrugged...

Send us Fan Mail She had called the emergency services. ‘A drowning,‘ she had explained when the ambulances arrived. This after the police car and officers arrived along the narrow one-sided lane, that led past the sunken church to the meadows, and then along the narrow pathway to the stretching curve of  beach. She had explained the clothes, the abandoned shoes, the splash that had rippled in a s...