No Dead Man’s Land ~ Chris Hewitt #writephoto

This writing prompt is courtesy of Sue Vincent’s fun #writephoto challenge is and entitled “keep”. It’s a great photo, I look forward to knowing where it was taken. I’ve gone with a bit of a medieval dark comedy (~650 words).

Owen threw back his hood. The rain had eased and he wanted to get a proper look at the figure confidently striding across the courtyard. “This the kid?”

“Yeah, Sarge,” said Skinner. The tall stranger had been the subject of much speculation in the pub the previous evening. “They reckon he’s a dead shot out to 400 yards. Never missed.”

“Great, just what we need.”

The two men watched the figure make his way along the battlements. A couple of guards pointed him in the right direction. Reaching the top of the ladder the stranger asked. “Sergeant, Owen?”

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A New Beginning…

Since the birth of the Silent Eye, we have held regular workshops, including, for the past seven years, an annual residential weekend of ritual drama in Derbyshire. We have had a huge amount of fun with these weekends over the years, in spite of the months of writing, work and preparation they entail. We have made some wonderful friends and seen our companions rise above the challenges to create pure magic within our place of working.

At the same time, we have also been pioneering a new kind of workshop, set within the living land. It is not enough to follow a spiritual path within the confines of a hallowed hall. Spirituality must be part of everyday life and must move in the world before it truly comes to life.

With this in mind, our landscape workshops visit ancient and sacred sites, right across the country, in varied and beautiful places, allowing the land and its history to illustrate and reveal the heart of the spiritual principles we explore.

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Home ~ Jane Dougherty #writephoto

Finished the rewrite. It’s in the lap of the gods now. Sue’s photo prompt is as apposite as ever.

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All has changed since Richard ordered the castle built on the promontory, but is that not always the way? Nothing except the salmon stays still in the current of a rushing river. Men build and other men pull down. Men make sons so they too may die in the same way as their fathers. She did not expect to see the tower as she remembers it, that it is now only a tumble of stones is not too hard to bear. But what digs deep into her heart like a flung javelin is the loneliness.

Continue reading at Jane Dougherty Writes

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Cusp #midnighthaiku

Cold and starry skies

Heralding a frosty dawn

Waking to wonder

Morning’s chill melting

Caressed by winter’s pale sun

Golden hearts open

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Allegiance ~ Na’ama Yehuda #writephoto

They called her Allegiance.

Contract and insurance, she was. Revered and guarded, both.

So well revered and so well guarded, in fact, that with time she became almost forgotten and had turned more a symbol than a soul. She sometimes wondered if she was in that way not too dissimilar to many of her kind through time, even if they had been so for far shorter spans.

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Fantasy Maps for Books ~ a new service from Jo Robinson

Reblogged from Jo Robinson:

Happy New Decade! Hopefully this one will be rather more fabulous than the previous one. It’s been a busy start to 2020 for me, but I like busy so that’s not a bad thing. Mostly I’ve been busy with work for my author clients, but whenever I’ve had a little bit of down time I’ve been diving into my pile of works in progress that have been left gathering dust over the past few years, when it often seemed that the sky had only one desire, which was to fall on my head and beat the daylights out of me. Having figured out that the sky will always be pretty much all around my head all the time without malicious intent, I finally learned to enjoy its dark blue days as well as the pastel shiny rainbow ones, and so life has become a lot more fun.

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My Beloved ~ Pamela #writephoto

It is time Beloved. One thousand years ago we angered the gods with our love. Our punishment was to be imprisoned in the rock cliffs overlooking our home. We were crude caricatures. I could no longer touch your gentle skin or kiss your sweet lips. They were jealous.

You wept stone tears as we spent decades watching our castle, our home, disintegrate. Now it is only a ruin. We watched our children and our children’s children and we were proud. But no longer did we have the voice to tell those we loved. When the last of our family was gone you could not stay. Your spirit died within the shell of the Stone. And I was alone.

Continue reading at Butterfly Sand

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‘The Consciousness Hour’: Neil Rushton talks about the Faeries with Anthony Peake

Reblogged from deadbutdreaming:

The great Anthony Peake was kind enough to invite me on to the January 2020 edition of his Consciousness Hour podcast to talk about the faeries and how they might interact with human consciousness. For those unfamiliar with Anthony’s work, I recommend checking out his website, which holds a big dataset of information, or, even better, sourcing some of his books, which investigate consciousness from a variety of perspectives. They are always deeply insightful.

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Keep ~ Cheryl #writephoto

Ancient tired limbs

Still viewed as standing proudly

Defenders of it

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Keep ~ Di #writephoto

He looked across at the Keep of his Beloved.
Her father had him imprisoned such that he could gaze on what might have been for the rest of his life. As it had turned out, this stretched to eternity as his spirit still lives in the tower.

Continue reading at pensitivity101

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