Mundane Monday Challenge #123 : Learn Photography – The Brick Pile


My yard once being a builders yard still retains some elements of that past. I liked the way the morning sun touched on the edge of the brick pile.

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Wordle #169 – Mara’s Cat


This week’s words: Fell Grin Local Naïve Touch Fata Organa n. a flash of real emotion glimpsed in someone sitting across the room, idly locked in the middle of some group conversation, their eyes glinting with vulnerability or quiet anticipation or cosmic boredom—as if you could see backstage through a gap in the curtains, watching stagehands holding their ropes at the ready, actors in costume mouthing their lines, fragments of bizarre sets waiting for some other production. Imbibe Opportunity Malleable Keyhole Trammel Hindsight

I fell out of bed and knew immediately it wasn’t going to be a normal day. After all, it was a Tuesday, and it didn’t feel like a Tuesday as Tuesday’s always a feel about them.

I looked around anticipating the day was going to rough no matter how I looked at it. Mara had left her cat behind again, and it sat on the rug grinning at me knowing I didn’t like cats much and more fully aware that the cat didn’t like me.

The trouble I knew had all begun the day before. It had been at the bored meeting when a real fata organa moment had occurred. Everyone was bored out of their minds, and bored minds tend to wander and look for reasons as to why they are bored. It was obvious that Mara sitting across from Olaf had suffered a real moment of emotion, her usual passive self, displayed a flash of emotion not witnessed in her before. She leapt to her feet, threw the glass of water she was holding at Olaf and threatened him with certain death should he continue to stare at her the way he was.

Olaf a local and a touch naïve protested he was doing no such thing to which Mara responded by throwing her note pad at him.

In hindsight that was not such a good move as Olaf accused Mara of spying on him through the bathroom keyhole and from then on it was on for young and old.

Later as we sat around the front bar of the local pub imbibing in several, if not many stiff drinks when Mara took the opportunity to say she would be staying over and that her cat, the grinning Cheshire, would be staying too.

My protests fell on deaf ears as Mara had that ability to sense the malleability of my character and before long I was entertaining not just Mara but her cat as well. There were saucers of milk, a lot of purring and a commitment to quell the trammelist urges I so often had towards her cat.

Now I was awake and staring eye to eye with her ginning cat as it eyed me off with evil intent if not obvious trammel towards me. Yes, I heard myself saying to the grinning cat, milk, a saucer of milk coming up.


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Writing Prompt “It’s all in the title” – Unfinished Dreams


The girl who was made of unfinished dreams.

She turns the page and looks at the next image.

She remembers the dream in which she encountered the river

Flowing rapidly, it hissed at her to stay away.

But she needed to cross and stepping into it the current dragged at her

She struggled as she knew across the stream was a better place.

She was always moving towards a better place, it played on her mind.

For so long life had been about acceptance,

Her lot in life was same old same old.

Here she felt safe, secure, familiar.

But she craved love, acceptance and care

She knew it was out there

Mostly out of reach but a dream she clung to.

She had urges to travel, but insecurities prevailed

Tied her down, hobbled progress

So, her day dreams sustained her

She cared about the boy, but he was out of reach

As she was to him.

They had shared the same dream

Touched each other’s souls like nothing before

Thrilled and excited the prospect of what might be.

But until then she’d remain

The girl made of unfinished dreams.


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Weekend Writing Prompt #16 – Colours


My Uncle Bill was one of those men best described as a colourful character. He lived alone, most of the time, though there was one woman who seemed to answer his call when needed.

Most of the time Uncle Bill could be found huddled close to his fuel stove, head stuck in the paper and ears paying attention to the talk back on the radio.

To visit him was an experience and you had to be prepared for and forgiving of his tendencies to fart, belch, swear and ridicule anyone he disagreed with which on any given day was pretty much everyone.

He was my mother’s only brother a man who had seen a lot of the world and had, therefore, an opinion on everything.

He loved a bet on the weekends, his Friday paper always folded over to the racing guide. On a piece of dirty paper, he’d scribble his bets for the next day, listening Saturday mornings to the racing selections on the radio.

“It’s a hard game,” he’d say as he gathered up all his bits of paper and stuffed them into his top pocket before making his way to the local betting shop. Then he’d stop and look once again at the newspaper, the racing guide by now a series of doodles as his mind had worked to discover the winners of each race. “Every winner is here you know,” he’d state as if making one of the great philosophical statements of all time.

Later in the afternoon, I’d stop by to see how he was going. He’d have a series of empty beer bottles scattered around him and more often than not a pile of crumpled betting slips littering the floor.

The radio would be blaring, and Uncle Bill would be talking back to it intend on having his opinion heard.

I always made a cup of tea when I arrived, I figured by then he’d had more than enough and needed to slow down.

He’d regale me about his lack of success, horses beaten by a nose, how he’d mixed up his numbers in one race and missed out of a ‘fortune’.

“It’s a hard game,” he’d repeat over and over never once suggesting he’d give up on the bets, but determined the next week to do it all over again in the belief good luck was just around the corner.


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First Line Friday -August 16th 2017 – The Accident


This week’s first line: After the accident, unease grew like a mold in the corners of his mind.

At first, it wasn’t something he knew was happening. It began to manifest itself each time he came to drive his car. The accident was something he didn’t think he’d ever witness but it happened in front of him in the wink of an eye, and all he could do was stand there and watch as the unfortunate driver was assigned to eternity.

What started out as an innocent drive to collect the families ironing evolved into something of a nightmare.

The car he saw as he reached the corner. His senses told him it was travelling quickly and to wait. He did so.

As he turned into the street after the car had passed, he looked up to see it had collided with another vehicle and literally bulldozed it into oblivion.

Now each time he took to the road that vision returned to him. Every corner was a potential death trap. Traffic lights filled him with an instant dread when the amber light appeared.

He knew he had to get a handle on what was happening. So, he talked about. To anyone who’d listen. It was like working the whole trauma of it out of his system. It took him time, but eventually, he began to feel more and more confident.

His unease slowly dissipated as he began to put it all into perspective.


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SoCS Aug. 19/17 – Pant


He was like a small puppy. Panting, fussing, paying attention to everything that happened. He ran this way and that, getting and fetching. Did she have enough? All she wanted? Could he do more? Could he? Could he?

To make it worse, she lapped it up. It was clear who wore the pants in this relationship. Being a helper monkey as he was I found disturbing as I began to wonder if he had any character of his own.

Often, I’d see him out at his clothes line hanging out the washing careful to hang her underpants the right way out as I’d heard him being berated for hanging them out inside out.

I questioned why this man needed to be reassured as often as he did. Was his wife a wanderer, ever threatening to leave him if she didn’t get what she required. Was he so insecure as to pander to her every request?

Some people are like that I know. Maybe he saw in her a person he couldn’t get enough of. His running around after her at the expense of his own dignity was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

He did wear pants I should point out, but not as securely as I might have thought.


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Saturday’s Mix–12 August 2017 – The Fairy Harvest Festival

This week’s task: our best writing about a garden.


The garden was looking the best it had for quite some time. Rain helped.

Rain was my next-door neighbour and a great help in my garden. She fussed around the pots, she encouraged the shoots on every shrub and was a magician when it came to propagating.

What Rain didn’t know, and I did was that within each structure of the garden was a small microcosm of life.

These microcosms were the fairy inhabitants of each section.

My favourites were the fern fairies for no other reason than they complemented the ferns in the most amazing of ways.

Ferns, as you know, are delicate structures. They can break easily if not handled and cared for with love and affection.

So too the fern fairies. Their social structure reflected the condition of their world. If all was flourishing then so were they, if things were tough, the ferns brittle so were their systems.

When in flourishing times it was exciting to be around them. The thing was you just had to know when to look and how to look.

The fern fairy harvest festival I had been fortunate to attend. They gathered under the fronds of the bird’s nest fern and celebrated long into the night the highlight always being the dance of the maiden hair fairies, tiny, delicate creatures whose dance was mesmerising and held all who paid attention in their thrall.

Maiden hair fairies had the ability to grab your attention, it wasn’t just their dance, their spellbinding movements and the sheer grace of them dancing in unison but if they looked at you and held your focus you were caught up in more ways than you might imagine. It was as if they got into your head, and when it happened, you could never think of a better place to be.

Tonight, there was to be a fairy harvest festival, I knew where it was to be held, I also knew the secret to attending. Being fairy-like, had a lot to recommend itself.


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