Jason froze mid swig. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Guy countered.
“That noise. Like a scratching noise. Coming from the walls, I think.”
Snuffles and truffles found wallowing in the mud noble little pig Since last year roughly corresponded to the Year of the Pig, I decided to write an ode to the pig (albeit in the form of a haiku) for my 12 Months of Writing challenge. The pig is a very under-appreciated animal. Not many know this, but pigs are the actual masterminds behind the fakenews campaign that dolphins are our secret overlords…. Read More
As described in my last post, I’m setting myself (and inviting others to join) a writing challenge designed to stretch unused writing muscles and limber up the creativity. Each month a new topic will be set, and each Friday we’ll write something based around that subject.
Silent, midnight silk,
starlight eyes in winter sky.
I’m being followed.
Pussycat lay draped over the side of the rowboat, her paw trailing listlessly in the water. Every few minutes a fish would swim up to examine the ripples, only to dart back to the safety of the depths when Pussycat took a swipe.
She felt it before she saw the first clouds shadowing the horizon. The gentle breeze changed swiftly, picking up speed, gusting through her feathers, urging her, fly! fly!
In the depths of the forest he toiled for hours, sweeping his stage of errant leaves and broken twigs, preening each magnificent tail-feather to perfection.
Last year was lean-times. Plentiful rain and warming sun nourished verdant fields of rice and millet and sugarcane. Herds of sacred cows and droves of goats grew fat with wheat and calf and kid.