Afghan Adventrues#37 One more sleep before Lal ~ Mary Smith

Posted on June 6, 2020 by Sue Vincent

Reblogged from MarySmithsPlace:

Autumn 1989 somewhere between Yakolang and Lal

IMG_0062 (Custom)

Juma Khan, the truck owner joined Khudadad and me for tea in the guest room. He was accompanied by his elderly wife whose eyes were filmed by cataracts. Pointing to his wife’s eyes he asked what could be done; did I have any medicine to make her see again? My heart sank. I was going to be a very disappointing guest.

I shook my head, explaining only an operation would help. The nearest hospital where such surgery could be performed was Kabul. We all knew, without further discussion, that Juma Khan’s wife would end her days in darkness. More patients from the village arrived for consultations – children with eczema, children with scabies, malnutrition, diarrhoea. The picturesque rural scene I had seen as we arrived disguised the poverty, ignorance and disease in the village.

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Veiled ~ Ritu Bhathal #writephoto

Posted on June 6, 2020 by Sue Vincent

A
Veiled threat
I can hear
“Uncover your
Head at your own risk
No one should see your face
Else, you’ll wish you never lived”
I lower my head, awaiting
Whatever fate had in store for me

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A tale from days of yore ~ Keith Hillman #writephoto

Posted on June 6, 2020 by Sue Vincent

On the crispest Winter’s dawn or the balmiest Summer’s noon, a veil of mist hovers over the rocks that watch over the town of Hamelsham.  Some say it’s but a peculiarity of nature whilst others envisage something more sinister.

Few visit there for it’s told that those that do suffer terrible nightmares as a consequence.  Some it’s said, have never returned.

On the fourth day of June in the Year 1720, a masked rider galloped into the market square scattering the townsfolk and dropping to the ground a parchment scroll.

Continue reading at Keith’s Ramblings

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Love Hog…

Posted on June 6, 2020 by Sue Vincent

*

If the first is a foot race,

then the second is run on a chariot…

Both lead to a film company

producing the self-same film.

*

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Veiled ~ Iain Kelly #writephoto

Posted on June 6, 2020 by Sue Vincent

The veil had been lifted.

She had seen the demonstrations, the protests. They had spread from America, all the way across the ocean to her doorstep.

At first she didn’t understand. This wasn’t a problem here. The police didn’t do things like that here. People were treated equally here.

Her black friends never spoke about it. She asked them about it and realised: they never spoke about it with her.

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IndieAni Bones, all the King’s Men and the Fairies

Posted on June 6, 2020 by Sue Vincent

“In you go, girlie,” she says, holding the car door open. “We’re going on another adventure!” Well, it was a while ago now, but I remember it as clear as day. She put my seat belt on and told me to settle down as it was a long drive. No chance of that! Normally, when I go in the car, it means I am going to see my friends but we were going the wrong way, so adventures, here I come! But we were driving for ages… though she said it wasn’t all that far. I admit, I got a bit excited. “Oho,” says the ball-guy. “Two of them squeaking now…” Apparently, she squeaks when she gets excited too. Especially when there are stones. And, when we finally got there… there were lots of stones. I couldn’t wait to get out!

“Rollright,” she told me. Now, I know a bit about Rollright, ‘cause the ball-guy had been reading a book called ‘The Old Sod,’ which I thought was about her, but he said not. It is by Alan Richardson, and ‘pparently, it’s about William Gray, and he’d had some strange and wonderful visions at the stone circle. I remember her telling me that she did too, so I’d found out a bit about the place.

Continue reading at The Small Dog’s Blog

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Veiled ~ Alethea Kehas #writephoto

Posted on June 6, 2020 by Sue Vincent

Her eyes searched the mist, over-looking the chasm. Sometimes the heart is blind to fear, and hers beat only to the destination. Rocks piled like stone sentinels watched, beckoning her footsteps. “Welcome home,” they whispered. Below three rings shivered in wait.

The pulse grew, stronger, urgent, the closer she got to edge. “Come to us,” they whispered. She didn’t care that she might never return. Lost to her was the voice of logic as she hurried onward. The green earth held strange holes that could swallow her whole in one misstep, but she hadn’t thought about the possibility of falling. No, she figured instead that she would finally learn to fly. Again.

Continue reading at The Light Behind the Story

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Fledglings #midnighthaiku

Posted on June 6, 2020 by Sue Vincent

Wide-eyed and eager

Fledgling foragers fly free

Adventure beckons

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Could You Be a Salonnière? ~ Iva Polansky

Posted on June 5, 2020 by Sue Vincent

Reblogged from Victorian Paris:

1

Giuseppe de Nittis: The Salon of Princess Mathilde, 1883

One of the largest differences between the Brits and the French was their attitude toward women. The British gentleman suffered women where he could not avoid them and avoided them where he could by seeking refuge in men-only clubs. The Frenchman, on the contrary, did not feel bright unless there were women around. He did seek them out during his leisure time and he was keen to converse in their company. The French were never afraid of clever women and they allowed them to rule as the salonnières.

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Magic and Spies ~ A.A. Azariah #writephoto

Posted on June 5, 2020 by Sue Vincent

“But it’s real…I’m telling you, they were just here…”

Agent Z was very unamused and equally unimpressed. “Mr. Gray, thank you. We of course appreciate your handling of the situation, and understand entirely if you need to take a few days off to recover yourself.”

Mr. Gray flushed. “Yes, but, I don’t need—”

“Agent Gray.” Agent Z cut him off. “Good morning. Goodbye.”

Maybe she was right. Mr. Gray looked around him miserably, the empty field all hazy with morning mist, and could see for himself how bad it looked. There were no fairies, no goblins, no little imps.

Continue reading at Wallie’s Wentletrap

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