Greenwich Mean Time

Brown Wooden Signage on Green Plants
Taryn Elliott @ Pexels

It is that time of year again

When clocks swing back from eleven to ten

When days get darker in mid-afternoon

Owing to a government mandate changing noon

So British Summer has come to an end

Until March – when we bend time again



Books, Old Books, Leather Books, Book

One employee garbed in Jane Austin’s best

Another in a vintage 1880’s cowboy vest

All titles arranged by the decade of first print

Some quite worn, while others are mint

What is it about this bookstore that defies time?

Is that why it’s named Vellichor on the sign?


Weekend Writing Prompt #233 – Vellichor in 48 words

Last Interview

Photo by Georgi Kalaydzhiev on Unsplash

I watched helplessly from behind the two-way glass

As the interview room filled with eerie gas

Detective Margaret Smith on her last duty day

Interviewing a suspect from far away

The Perp grew tentacles and at Smith did lunge

Breaking the cuffs – the room into mist did plunge

The last thing I remember was her pleading face

Before being devoured by a creator from outer space


Out Wyoming Way

Cowgirl, Horse, Horseback, Ride

Holly Hall and Jeremiah Small were an unlikely couple. But a couple they were, and this is their tale. Holly was the only child of a Wyoming rancher and having no brothers she grew up riding, roping, and the like. She wore a stetson hat and leather chaps, and never was without a six-gun on her side. Yes, she could shoot, swear, and drink with the ranch hands as their equal.

Jeremiah was a sophisticated seminary graduate from some place back east, some way out Massachusetts way. He took it into his mind that he was going to go west and bring the gospel to the Cheyenne and Arapaho. He found that preaching slow and loud in English didn’t have much success, however, and not being much for languages he decided to adjust his aspirations.

It was this that brought him to the township of New Prospect. He was sure he would leave his mark of the gospel on that place. After settling into the boarding house, the young preacher made his way to the saloon. As he entered he noted a young cowpuncher propping up the bar knocking back Red Eye. Jeremiah decided he would go and spread the good news of temperance to the lad. He approached the bar and ordered himself a sarsaparilla only to notice that the buckaroo was no teenage boy but a woman of about twenty-four years of age. He nevertheless began his sermonising on drink.

She looked at his, then replied, “Jesus turned water into wine; and the book condemns drunkenness not drinking.” The preacher looked back, amazed and agreeing, he beat a retreat.

The next day he again saw her playing cards in the saloon. He went to condemn her gambling. She noted that the Apostles cast lots to secure a replacement for Judas. Well, these daily debates went on for a time, and then debates turned to conversations, and the conversations into courting. Before long a wedding was being planned.

The day finally arrived and the whole community gathered at the courthouse. Jeremiah was dressed in a black suit with a clerical collar, and everyone was surprised to see Holly show up in her momma’s wedding dress, and with no shooting iron. After a brief ceremony, Judge Carmichael pronounced them man and wife. It was now time for honeymooning. It was on their wedding night that the cowgirl and the missionary had their first real dispute.


Not Alone

Story of Gideon Images, Mighty Man of Valor

Jerub-Baal, Midian to defeat

Was told his army he must decrease

He sent away all who in heart did faint

But the numbers were still to large

He was to show even more restraint

And so he cut his forces to the core

A mere three hundred – not one more

And with this tiny band

It was God’s victory that was at hand

We too may face opposition strong

But if you feel alone – you are so wrong

For if the Lord is with you

And takes up the fight

You shall prevail through His might

Reflections on Judges 7



Umbrella, Metal, Rainy Weather, Rain

Skeletal framework

Scaffolding secure

Mere rods and hinges

To make it endure

It is not these that keep us dry

The rain trough them would go right by

But the fabric without support

The storm to thwart

Would be quite useless

And my trip I’d abort



Grammar, Abc, Dictionary, Words, Letters

I met a they the other day

They was labelled a “she” but wasn’t happy that way

“They was” isn’t correct, I hear you say

But if they is a singular – it must work that way

Don’t get me wrong – I’m happy to use

Whatever pronoun that you choose

It’s the grammar only that makes me wince

As our language suffers growing pains

As new views and agendas we evince


The Project

Natalya Vaitkevich @

There was so much out there. How could she ever hope to capture it? This niggled at Angela for days, then she decided that the only way to do it was to start.

She set up her easel and placed a single twig before her and began to look long and hard at it. She looked beyond the leaves and bark into the soul of the thing. She then began to simply sketch what filled her mind’s eye. Eight hours later she pushed back and took in the fruit of her labour. “Leaf,” the true leaf had taken form on the paper. It seemed almost three dimensional.

So realistic was the rendering that she reached out to touch it. As she did it fell from the page and drifted to the floor.

Amazed, she blinked and picked it up. She could feel its texture and weight. It was indeed a leaf.

She immediately sat back before her easel and began to work.

Four days later her mother knocked her door.

“We were worried about you,” she said letting herself into the studio. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

The bleary-eyed Angela looked towards her mother and ans merely said, “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”

“Let’s see it then,” her mother said and leaned over to look at the blank paper. “Working?” she asked.

“Yes, my best stuff yet,” Angela said.

“Hmm,” her mum said unconvinced. “I’ll leave you to it, and eat something. You look awful.”

“Okay, Mum,” the artist replied.

With that her mother left not having noticed the pile of leaves and twigs around her daughter’s ankles.


Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #141


Sheep, Farmer, Shepherd, Agriculture

The Lord is my shepherd

Over my wants and desires He does guide

For all that is necessary – He will abundantly provide

He gives me rests in meadows green

All my burdens there to lay down

Fresh waters to revive me

To cool my throat and crown

My weary soul and spirit

He does repair – restore

For it is His name that I bear,

Who could ask for any more?

In ways holy I will travel,

And through Him, others will I bless

His staff of guidance nurtures me

And from my worries – gives much needed rest

My enemies can merely watch

As the Lord showers on me good things

Abundance of blessing overflow

No matter what life might bring

For all my days – on these I can depend

His promise on that His word contains

Until heavenly realms I finally enter –

At this earthly life’s inevitable end


Thanks for the insights Pastor Vince.