
The A66 road connects east and west across northern England and runs through some of the highest parts of the Pennine Hills. Notorious for its severe winter winds that topple heavy wagons, it’s also very beautiful.
Continue reading at Sun in Gemini

The A66 road connects east and west across northern England and runs through some of the highest parts of the Pennine Hills. Notorious for its severe winter winds that topple heavy wagons, it’s also very beautiful.
Continue reading at Sun in Gemini

I’m trying to let go of this story, but Sue’s photograph won’t let me. For her Thursday photo prompt.
Cappamore. It was tumbled down long ago because the heart had gone out of it. No one lived there after Aoife died, after her murderer died, after the old animosities and tragic misunderstandings had been put to rest. Isobel saw to that. She remembered it only as the place where her mother had wandered like a wraith after Richard died, unable to come to terms with her loss. Isobel didn’t remember her father, no more than she remembered her brother who died too, both in the lake, both at Cappamore. But she felt his warmth and the passion of her parent’s love in the stones, in the air.
Continue reading at Jane Dougherty Writes
Reblogged from Word Craft:

![Mr. Sagittarius: Poetry and Prose by [Mallon, M J]](https://images-eu.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51FbHIyOGCL.jpg)
Twin brothers Harold and William love the magic of the natural world.
When Harold dies he leaves a simple memorial request.
Will his brother William and his sister Annette honour it?
Or, will the garden work its magic to ensure that they do.
A magical story expressed via an original compilation of poetry and prose with photographic images.
Continue reading at Word Craft
Five stars for the Small Dog…
Five stars for this wonderful foray into the world of a dog with its human. Sue Vincent, the human in question, carves rhyming sentences into sweet and often comic vignettes.
I’m a dog lover so I was drawn to a book all about Ani, a photogenic doggy. I love all of her incredible expressions. What’s more amazing is Ani’s story is done entirely in verse, rhyming verse, no less. It’s a delightful read all about Ani and her human’s daily adventures. If you are a dog lover, like me, you’ll want to read this well told story.
Happy Doggerel reading.
The remains of the tower rose in the distance. It was hard actually to call it a tower now because it just looked like a lump of rock on the grassy hillside. It was the place Rhys and Ffion always met at and had been since they were children.
Today, Ffion had arrived first. She entered the tower and sat down on some stones crafted into a bench. Above, someone had built a roof and blocked off what had been a spiral staircase. It was a freezing but sturdy little shelter.
Continue reading at The Story Files
Once again, Sue’s weekly prompt has been conducive for a short share from my WIP, A ghost and his gold:
“At 3p.m. a thunderstorm blew up and the rain simply fell down in a torrential deluge. Brilliant streaks of lightening tore apart the skies that were almost as dark as night, accompanied by ferocious peals of thunder. The Molopo River developed into a raging flood within minutes and all impediments to its flow, including wooden bridges, earthworks and ammunition, were washed away. A seven-pounder gun was saved from the flood with seconds to spare.
Continue reading at Roberta Writes

I remember, late one night, perhaps forty years ago, taking a shortcut home across a disused railway line in the city. It was a very dark path and seldom used, but it cut a mile or so off our walk home. We had no torch, but the moon was bright and the skies clear enough to see our way, enough at least to show us the damaged path and the tussocks of grass over which we could have tripped.
It must have been midway along the path, right where it crossed the old rails, when I saw one of the tussocks move. There was the strangest of noises, a sort of low grunting, coming from all around and it was quite eerie. We stopped, wondering what on earth it could be… and as our eyes adjusted to the light, saw dozens and dozens of hedgehogs of all sizes, curled into tight balls around our feet and wandering up and down the old line in the moonlight.
I had never seen so many hedgehogs… or, for that matter, so many wild mammals together at once. It was a magical sight and one I have never forgotten.
It was only when I read an article on their declining numbers that I realised just how few hedgehogs I have seen over the past twenty years. Apart from the ones that lived in my old garden, I could only think of the odd one or two… and the last real ‘close encounter’ was five years ago now, when Ani met the ‘ball’ that ran away.
I know I get hedgehogs here, on the edge of the fields, but in spite of having the big glass door standing open day and night, have only glimpsed a shadowy ball in the darkness, and seen the after-effects of their presence. Where once a hedgehog sighting was a common thing, now it is a rarity.
From road deaths to habitat loss, human impact on the countryside plays a major part in the fact that hedgehog numbers have decreased so dramatically that there may be fewer than a million of the iconic little creatures left in the wild. It would be a tragedy to see ‘Mrs Tiggywinkle’ fade into memory.
However, we can help. It seems that while rural hedgehogs have suffered a rapid decline along with the hedgerows that they need, their urban counterparts are adapting to life within our garden hedges. John Bainbridge published a post last week that sets out ways in which we can make our gardens hedgehog friendly and how we can care for these beautiful if prickly, little creatures.
It doesn’t take much… and there are few things more wonderful than to watch a wild creature hunting in your garden, especially when its prey consists largely of the slugs and beetles that the gardener sees as a pest.

It’s lonely up here, one doesn’t meet humans too often, mostly the locals are ravens and rabbits and moles, and the occasional eagle. But I like it, this is my place, where I dream, and remember. There are sweet memories, and also dark and stormy ones.
Continue reading at Of Glass and Paper

Pale stars are shining
Punctuating verdant spring
Scattered promises
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