In thought

You’re slightly arched over, your eyes focused intently on the earthy clay beneath your masterful hands

You pause in thought, your hands still molding, idly kneading 

Sitting up you tilt your head to the ceiling

Furrowing your brow as your eyes flutter back and forth following an imaginary train of thought

Delicately folding your hands around the ball of clay you enter your sphere of calm confusion

Your foot pushes down gently on the pedal below the table

The wheel spins and your hands begin to dance

Creating the magic from the depths of your consciousness

Flash Fiction

We were desperately looking for a landing space along the cliff, somewhere where our boat wouldn’t get bashed against the sharp rocks. I unfurl the main sail and yell for Lou to turn the boat to starboard. I think I can see a small cove that would at least allow us to tie up and get on dry land. The wind further fills the sail and the boat keels over, I slip and fall against the rail the rope flying out of my hand, making the taught sail turn angry. I try to pull myself up as the boat swing back to even keel as the fabric loses its fullness. Something warm and wet is dripping into my eye and I brush it away, pushing myself to all fours. My hand is sticky with red. I am bleeding. I must have hit my head. Where’s Lou?

“Lou” I scream into the wind. My voice shaking and panicked. “Lou, are you ok?” I yell again uselessly into the wind. I continue on my hands and knees to the stern, leaving sticky red handprints on the wooden deck. Suddenly I see Lou, she has fallen near the wheel and is unconscious, I crawl over to her and check that she is breathing. She is breathing and seems to have knocked herself out on the wheel. I know I need to get to shore, I stand up and with unknown strength not from myself I wrench the main rope in and tie it to a pole, swinging the boat to starboard I sail towards the jagged coastline. Blood is still dripping onto my shoulder as the boat nudged the rocky shore in the cove. The boat tilts to one side but is on the ground safe, sheltered from the wind. Lou is slightly moving, and I go to her. Her eyes open and I know she will be ok but I knew we would never do that again.

Rainy night

I sit here, warm 

The rain drops are blurring the street lights and the now mundane street outside is being washed away, a new coat being Gently pelted down from storm soaked clouds

My fuzzy cat’s warm body is pressed against my leg

His alert green eyes turned upwards to the sound of the silvery drops

He tucks his head under his arm disappearing from the noise

Wet and cold

The windows are now moving glass panes, the water thickly pouring down them

Stories of water sit in each kaleidoscope