The slithery moonlight shined like snowflakes on oak trees while owls and bats perched upside down getting an overview. The trees dangled in their overgrown shadows and their wide cushioned leaves shivered as a quiet breeze blew occasionally. The moonlit charismatic night wandered in its loneliness in the dense woods as if asking for a nap. Trees, shrubs, birds and bugs all murmuring in the dark dainty hours of the night.
Continue reading at freshdaisiesdotme
Genie by repeatingarms, deviantart.com
“Dear Sir, I wish to make complaint
These fairy tales are very quaint,
And doubtless teach a thing or two
(The old ones better than the new)
But I had worked a thousand years
With wishes ringing in my ears,
All well and good… my job, I know,
But where did all the magic go?
I’m sitting, cooped up in this lamp,
With walls rubbed thin and rising damp,
My joints are creaking with disuse,
Becoming more of a recluse,
And so, at last, I make request
And hope you move at my behest…
And see your way to grant to me
A set of magic wishes three.
Come on, why not? There’s plenty still,
Aladdin had his worldly fill
And no-one’s bothered since to call,
So productivity can’t fall!
You never know, it might be cool
To let the Genie play the fool;
Might even do a bit of good,
I thought of several ways I could…
First, I’d banish television,
Thus ensuring there’s provision
For adventures to be sought and
New blood finding Samarkand.
Then the mobile phones could go;
They always ring, you never know
Just when the damned things will start beeping,
Mid-enchantment, waking, sleeping…
Consoles, tablets and computers,
Good for adults and commuters.
Magic went high tech and odder…
That’s no good as genie-fodder.
That could be my wishes three gone,
Why not get the wishes bang on?
So, my first real wish would be…
Banish new technology!
Which leaves me two, I know the score;
As I can’t take this anymore,
The second wish… a pension plan,
And all backdated, then I can
(After my thousand serving years…)
Indulge in holidays and beers,
A villa on some sunny beach…
And sit back thinking life’s a peach.
And for the last, don’t be a meanie,
Magic up a curvy Jeannie!
Please consider my request,
I know that you will do your best…
This lamp is dark and lacking cheer
And no-one knows I’m waiting here…
Life has been lonely, sort of tragic,
Since the world’s forgotten magic.”
Yours, respectfully,
The Genie of the Lamp
Samarkand, 2020
Black underbelly
Turn, show us your morning side
The colors we love
Reblogged from Cheryl at The Bag Lady
Rowans remember
Blood upon forgotten stone
The river flows on
*
Reblogged from San Giacomo’s Corner:
In her book, “Shadows in the Stone,” Diane transports us into a fantasy world that she describes with enough expertise to fully immerse a reader. There are some overlaps into our own world, but they do not shake a reader out of the fantasy. Now, you may be thinking, “All fantasy does that.” Yes, you’re correct, in the sense that the moment an author mentions a sword, a shield, or a horse, they’re pointing to the real world. However, Diane brought in the concept of canned foods, and described a diligent accounting / government system within Aruam Castle, complete with pre-made forms, records, and bureaucratic filing. Yet she incorporated it so well into her world-building that any reader will seamlessly accept.
Love is the fine lace woven through the main plot. We see familial love, the love of friendship, and romantic love all growing from the main story. It is the driving force behind the actions and determination of the characters.
Continue reading at San Giacomo’s Corner
No one warned me about falling in love with the Sylvia Plath types. The women who’d look at you, but see something off to the side. Who composed sonnets while you talked about how your day went.
Clipped answers and shortbread cookies.
Continue reading at A Bunch of Dumb Words in a Row
Castle Hill Field
The holy well of Whitnash.
Whitnash has been settled since pre-Christian Celtic times. The present-day church of St Margaret is on a mound which may have been of pagan importance in pre-Christian times. It also used to have a holy well which went back to Celtic times. Although some say that the well was at the source of the brook a few miles away, most say that it was near to the present day footbridge, crossing the brook on the path from Radford Semele to Whitnash. It has now been drained and all that remains is the merest trickle of water flowing into the brook. It took a while to find and was somewhat underwhelming! It is still said to have curative powers though, for the eyes especially.
There are two legends associated with it. One was that either a reconditioned church bell or a new one had been taken to the well to be re-consecrated, prior to being reinstalled in St Margaret’s church. Old Nick startled the consecration party and they dropped the bell into the well, losing it. However it gained the gift of prophecy. People would drop a stone into the well and ask a question at night time. Then at daybreak it would give its answer: One ring for yes and two for no.
Leamington Courier article about holy well, 23.02.2001.
The other legend is that the Mercian St Fremund won a battle against the Danes at Radford Semele. However, he got beheaded by a fifth columnist after the battle. So he picked his head up (as you do) and walked some distance. Then prayed for water to wash in, a well miraculously appeared, whereupon he washed himself and then keeled over and died, surprisingly! Most say this happened at the holy well in Southam. Although some say that it was in Whitnash.
Remains of holy well
The path going from Whitnash to Radford Semele, which the well is near to, goes past a field on the left called, “Castle Hill Field”. According to tradition there was a Celtic fortification there. That does make sense, what with Whitnash being Celtic in origin and the Roman road, Via Regia went past it (some of which is now the current footpath). There are said to be ley lines crossing the area.
The bell itself is commemorated in Whitnash’s municipal crest.
About the author
Gary Stocker graduated from Coventry Polytechnic in 1991 with a degree in combined engineering. He worked in civil engineering for nearly twenty years. For the last six years he has worked in materials science and currently works as a test engineer. His hobbies and interests include voluntary work, conservation work and blacksmithing. He is also interested in history, mythology and folklore and he says, “most things”.
How did your granny predict the weather? What did your great uncle Albert tell you about the little green men he saw in the woods that night? What strange creature stalks the woods in your area?
So many of these old stories are slipping away for want of being recorded. legendary creatures, odd bits of folklore, folk remedies and charms, and all the old stories that brought our landscape to life…
Tell me a story, share memories of the old ways that are being forgotten, share the folklore of your home. I am not looking for fiction with this feature, but for genuine bits of folklore, old wives tales, folk magic and local legends. Why not share what you know and preserve it for the future?
Email me at findme@scvincent.com and put ‘Living Lore’ in the subject line. All I need is your article, bio and links, along with any of your own images you would like me to include and I’ll do the rest.
A not very hopeful story for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt. I could have written a bit of the WIP, the photo fits (as usual!) but don’t want to give the entire story away.
The land had been forested once long ago, too long ago for anyone to remember, too long ago for anyone to believe in it. Forest was a myth, fabulous, like the stories of the beasts that lived there. I can see a vestige of it from here, though the light is never bright any more. I can see two tufts facing one another across an arm of the ocean, tiny remnants of woodland, not even very old, orphaned children of the great forests.
Continue reading at Jane Dougherty Writes
The glamorous sky seems an incongruous backdrop for mundane chimneypots and washing lines. Veiled by the pallid grey of low cloud or with a symphony of shades, the sun rises over the fields, painting the morning with impossible colour, every single day. Sometimes I can watch…sometimes I am occupied elsewhere… sometimes there is nothing to see beyond a gradual lightening of the sky, yet every morning, the same miracle unfolds, whether I can see it or not.
*
The young rabbit really doesn’t seem to mind our presence, but carries on with the serious business of lunch as we watch. There is no hurry in its movements, no panic…no fear. As if it knows we mean no harm, are no threat, but are simply delighting in the privilege of a shared moment. Rabbits are always around… a common enough resident of the countryside, though they usually scatter at the approach of man.
*
It is a perfect spring day. From inside the five hundred year old pub, sheltered from the underlying chill, it looks like midsummer. People sit on the tiny village green enjoying the sun. It is Midsomer though, not midsummer… the Lions at Bledlow, once two adjoining pubs, the Red Lion and the Blue Lion, is well known to fans of Midsomer Murders as the fictional ‘Queen’s Arms’, while the village church has played the part of ‘Badger’s Drift church’ in the series. I have frequently seen the crews filming around here; the area is beautiful and full of historic hamlets, perfect for creating a magical illusion for the small screen.
Continue reading at The Silent Eye
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 