There was not much progress in writing last week. At least not regarding the main story-line I’ve been working on past few weeks. But I did manage to find some time for quick exercises. I wrote a flash story on wondrous afterlife of a discarded piece of plastic cutlery, and even my first-ever sonnet!
Now to the actual autophagy of the notes scattered on social media. The Ophelia storm has passed through Ireland on Monday. The whole country was on lock-down and there was some pretty serious impact in the more exposed southern parts of the island. Luckily, nothing too extreme happened in my neighbourhood. Only a few fallen trees.
Luckily, all of my favourite “locals” survived unscathed. Such as Lady Rivertree.
The howler’s gone. The lucky ones raise their arms and celebrate blue wounds, carved by the gales in the ashen skies.
Or the ponderous druid circle nearby.
Once the acolytes mused on mysteries of earth’s bones. So good at it; they’ve never noticed they became trees.
Some of the trees in this grove look suspiciously akin to Lady Rivertree. Could it be something more than just a botanical coincidence?
Whispering to each other in grief, they couldn’t know their lost child is near. So powerful was the river’s spell.
The passing stormy weather had left the trees relatively undisturbed indeed. But the skies were a different matter entirely. There were quite a few curious light-shows on display, bringing little beads of airborne stories.
He woke up on the roof and watched the rising swell of golden fire. Ready to surf the skies.
The trap had sprung! Hungry and anxious, she rushed … to wonder how to feed on tiny drops of rainbow.
That’s it for this week. Now I’m already off to another one. Hopefully it’ll be more productive in terms of writing despite couple of deadlines and slew of meetings dropping on my head at work.
Oceanic Soup 