The Small Dog has the Last Word…

“Anu, old boy, how did you get here?”

Frankly, as a mention in their latest book, it isn’t good enough. Not only have they changed my name and gender, but I am pretty sure it is the only mention of me in the last of the ‘Don and Wen’ books.

I mean, the first three, the Triad of Albion? That was fine. They stuck to the facts, weaving the story of their adventures in the landscape and the old, sacred places with the things they were ‘seeing’ and discovering. And, as should be the case, I took a starring role. What would they have learned without me to guide them? To show them that Love was the true meaning of the Ball of Power?

They stuck to the plan with the second three books, the Doomsday series. Once again, they kept me centre stage… at least some of the time… as they continued letting ‘Don’ and ‘Wen’ tell their story and all the things they were learning to read in the landscape. But you know, when you have pups, whether they have two legs or four, and you send them out into the worlds on their own, you expect them to stand on their own feet, however many they have. So, if they made a few odd choices and I wasn’t in those three books quite as much, that was understandable.

But then they decided there were some stories they could not really tell, not in quite the same way, not and expect to be believed. So, as they came towards the end of the Doomsday books, they a let a bit more fiction in. And, between leaving poor ‘Ben’ in jail and ‘Anu’ at home while they wandered through the ancient places of Scotand, England, Wales and Ireland, they went completely off script as far as I am concerned… and me? I barely get a mention!

Now, pardon me for speaking out here, but does it not seem a little strange to leave your most valuable asset at home when you go off ‘on the run’? Or when you have a book to promote? Asking me to launch their book for them was, let’s be honest, only an afterthought… when I happened to wonder if I made it into the last of the Lands of Exile books, Kith ‘n’ Kin…at all…

Continue reading at The Small Dog’s Blog

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Silenced #midnighthaiku

Wide horizons missed

Human stories left untold

Silenced by lockdown

*

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Marjorie Mallon Interviews Sally Cronin Author Interview

Reblogged from Kyrosmagica:

Welcome to Kyrosmagica! It is wonderful to have you over for a chit chat, Sally.


Lovely to be here Marjorie and thank you for the invitation.

MJ: I’m delighted to be reading Life is Like A Bowl of Cherries, Sally, the title is so beguiling, particularly as I do love fruit, and cherries are a favourite!

MJ: Sally, I’d love to hear more about your nomadic life. I believe you have lived in many countries. Which of these places has a special place in your heart and why?

Continue reading at Kyrosmagica

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Winter walks with camera (5) : long-shadowed figures

Steve Tanham's avatarSun in Gemini

A bright winter day brings a wonderful benefit: long shadows. Often a matter of being lucky and at the right place at the right time, the long shadow is at its best extending the movement of people…

(300 words, a two-minute read)

The opening shot was taken while walking behind a family. It was a Sunday afternoon and we had been strolling behind them on the promenade at Heysham. As the prom approaches the village, it climbs steeply up a small cliff. At that point, the shadows in front of us, cast by the early setting sun, became extended. I had finished taking photographs for the day but I grabbed the camera from my coat pocket and pressed the shutter – not even sure I’d get a shot. I was delighted with the sheer joyfulness of people and shadow this produced.

This shot, above, taken on the same Sunday…

View original post 179 more words

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Discovering Albion – day 8: Rose-gold Stone

scotland trip jan 15 525The Parish Church of Saint Mary the Virgin on Holy Island is thought to stand on the spot where St Aidan founded the first small church around 634AD. Bede wrote of the old church that it was a thatched affair, built with old oak and unsuitable for Abbot or Bishop. A later stone church was built, and eventually the Priory that now stands in skeletal splendour against the sky.

scotland trip jan 15 560There has been a place of Christian worship on this spot for some fourteen hundred years. Within the fabric of the chancel parts of the original seventh-century stone building remain, making it the oldest structure on the island to still bear a roof. St Cuthbert would have prayed here.

scotland trip jan 15 566The little church served the community of monastery and islanders during the height of the golden age of Northumbria, when the Lindisfarne Gospels were created… the fabulously and meticulously illuminated manuscripts that still survive today, the cover in almost pristine condition, each page a masterpiece of art and detail… a work of dedication and faith.

Continue reading at France & Vincent

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The Osiriad~Myths of Ancient Egypt re-released…

It felt as if I had been taken by the scruff of the neck, sat down in front of the computer and instructed to write. The Osiriad was one of the strangest experiences I have ever had with words. I had long wished to see some order put into the scattered myths of ancient Egypt. We know so many of their stories, but for the most part, they stand alone, fragmented and disconnected from each other and therefore making little sense. I thought I should do the research and try putting at least some of the better known stories in order.

I never got the chance. I found I was playing catch-up with the research, fact checking translations of documents written five thousand years ago, carved on pyramids or tucked away in funerary texts.

What emerged was the story of Creation, a spotlight on the workings of natural law and a surprising look at the sophisticated and intimate knowledge of many modern sciences, presented in story form using the symbols of an ancient faith.

There is a deep understanding of what we now call psychology, cosmology… even a foreshadowing of quantum theories. But the tales in which these glimpses arefound are not dry and dusty, but still gleam with all the colours of a vibrant inner life. The Egyptians were not hiding their knowledge or reserving it just for the intellectual and social elite… these were the tales known in every household. What you understood from them would match your knowledge… or make you think. The stories would lodge in memory and be transmitted, heart to heart, gaining depth and insight as it was handed down.

And perhaps, at the same time, thousands of miles away, our own bards, storytellers and wise-folk were teaching in the same manner. Just as we do today, through the moral choices that make up the background of so many of our stories.

Continue reading at France & Vincent

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Flight…

*

As the narrow-boat’s snout tickled the under-bridge,

Black-Jack cut the engine and peered through the white gloom…

A landing-official waved his stray arm in greeting, the lights beyond him intimated warmth and festivity.

An Owl screeched!

Black-Jack turned to see a huge moon crest the tree-line: he re-engaged the engine, pointed the craft and leaped onto the tow-path.

Continue reading at  France & Vincent

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Tom Banjo…

*

Down the dark stairwell,  a silent progress plotted.

‘Twas death in that  house were Tom but spotted.

…He reached the door, a tree clad Owl hooted.

Three seconds more and Tom was Seven League Booted.

One stride it took to clear that grim ravine.

Continue reading at  France & Vincent

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Bittersweet

The misty dawn blushed a soft, rosy pink, probably embarrassed by the number of clichés it was inviting. It had begun with a delicate glow, suffusing the rising mist with gold as I shivered on the doorstep, then painted the world in pastel colours, as gentle as an apology. As the sun rose, the temperature plummeted, the swirling mists turned to fog and you could almost see the ice crystals forming. Another morning was born…

The sudden frost highlighted every detail of plants still resolutely green, each strand of spider silk and the edge of every fallen leaf. The ordinary became beautiful. Details that are overlooked a hundred times a day were limned in crystal and became unmissable… yet, but for necessity, I would have taken the option of comfort, stayed warm indoors and seen nothing. As I scraped the ice from the windscreen of the car, I was once again struck by how simple it is to learn the lessons of life by observing Nature at work. My own experience of the morning was one of frozen fingers and yet, the bitter frost served only to highlight a beauty that might otherwise have been missed.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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Drawn #midnighthaiku

Dark against the blue

In stillness or in motion

Shadows draw the eye

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