How far shall we descend?
How deep shall we dare to go?
How far out into the tide?
Is a question hard to know
Shall we wander away from land
Far from the realm of breath and air
Into the depths of Nepture’s lair
Where cold fingers of death may enclose?
Trouble me not with warnings shrill
Of tidings of impending doom
For the waters call to our mariners’ hearts
And I think they forever will
Padre
Woodland wonder, no dark forbidding forest here
This a place of light and greenery, a playground for prancing deer
Quiet paths devoid of obstacles
Make my journey pleasant
As I take in all that surrounds
Like delicate leaves and golden pheasants
But alas I shall need return
To my abode enclosed
And await the coming again of such green scenes
When lockdown is deposed
Padre
A fly by night company some might say
Ferrying passengers to off shore stays
Passenger Terminal – the sign points the way
But it no longer seems to function
Since the rigs moved away
So not fly by night or even by day
I guess modern business works that way
Padre
Harbour quiet – far from the bustle of the day
Waters tranquil lapping upon the shore
Night’s chill breath adds to the still
Awaiting dawn and the quayside’s awakening
No nocturnal moorings made
To disturb the sleeping anchorage
It is in this moment that I can find peace
As the harbour rests
Padre
A dune-way path straight to the sea
No need to brave loose sand and tangled grass
Such ease delivered to a traveller’s way
What more can a beach-goer ask?
And yet there are some who would the rough way go
To experience the natural ways of to-s and fro-s
As for me the boardwalk I’ll take
For my achy old knee’s sake
Padre
“The entrance is around here somewhere,” Thimblebud said.
“That’s what you said ten minutes ago,” Niggletwist observed.
“Well it’s not my fault that it snowed,” Thimblebud retorted.
“Yes. But it was your great idea to leave the Fairyhold in the first place. ‘Oh, let’s go slide on the frozen pond. It will be fun,’ you said. Well it wasn’t. It was cold and I got my shoes wet, and now we are lost.”
“Wait, there it is,” Thimblebud said.
“Where?” Niggletwist snapped.
“Right there.”
“You mean that rabbit hole?” Niggletwist replied snidely. “This is the last time I am every going out with you again. You have the worst sense of direction of any Pixie I have ever seen.”
“You find it then,” Thimblebud said coldly.
“Well, I um.”
“I thought not,” Thimblebud said. “We will just have to wait with the rabbits till the snow melts.”
And that’s how the Pixies came to live in High Warren.
Padre
“Tom and Amie said that the restaurant was amazing,” Phillis said.
“I don’t know. How could a place called ‘The Shed,’ be that wonderful?” Dave replied.
“That’s because it’s low key and understated,” Phillis said.
“It’s damn hard to find is what it is,” Dave said pulling over to look at the directions Amie had jotted down. “Surely if the place is so great there would be some kind of sign to lead you to it, or at least a landmark.”
Padre
Written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge #113. Sorry for the Norfolk inside joke everybody else.
“That’s so weird,” Amber said as she did a slow spin taking in all of her surroundings.
“What’s weird? Where?” Tracy queried.
“Here – and this puddle’s what’s weird,” Amber replied.
“What are you going on about?”
“Just look at the refection in the puddle. The building in it isn’t anywhere near here.”
Tracy looked into the puddle and then looked around in the same intense manner Amber had.
“No! No way!” Tracy exclaimed.
The pair then knelt next to the puddle and peered in. There before them was a bustling market square with people in Victorian dress carrying out their business.
Tracy hesitantly placed her fingers into the shallow puddle that seemed no more than an inch deep but was able to sink her hand in to her elbow.
Jerking her arm rapidly from the puddle, she shook it and involuntarily shivered.
“No! This isn’t happening,” she said. “I could feel a breeze.”
Padre
All the indicators were good. Minus .5 C or 31 degrees if you prefer old money. A good frost last night, and snow predicted for tonight. Yes, it seemed the conditions were all set for the first decent snowfall of the year, and Felix the Christmas Elf was ready for it. He would make the first plunge into a snow drift and win the third annual jungle bell trophy in a row. Only seven hours to go. But truth be told he was getting a little bored waiting in his dive posture, but one needs to be ready when there are jingle bells on the line.
Millions of leaves, miles of trail, and hundreds of hikers and dogwalkers, but it was my nosey mutt that made the discovery. I guess it shouldn’t have been a surprise though, if anyone or any thing was going to find a broken tennis racket it was going to be my dog. I should have known better than to have named him Baghdatis.
Padre
