I remember a countryside that was wonderous
With humming bees and birdsong glorious
But the times are changing notorious
With sounds of traffic thunderous
How has it come to be? It’s mysterious
And was it necessary? I am curious
Padre
The Times
Ragtag Daily Prompt
Fleece
In ancient times we are told
Jason sought a fleece of gold
His bravery is clear from that story old
But Gideon, I think was even more bold
For he used a fleece – God to test
Not once – but twice he made requests
And in the end he had to reflect
That he had to do what God expects
So if we wish with God to connect
The tasks He gives we shouldn’t reject
But like Jason and Gideon of times old
We should true to our missions hold
Padre
In A Cloud Of Fury
The steam billowed into the compartment uncontrollably. It was going to prove a disaster not only for those unfortunate enough to be caught up in the scalding deluge, but for the workers at the plant as a whole. There would be no more work on that day, or for several weeks to come owing to both the investigation and the repairs that were to follow the accident.
In time it was ruled to be human error, an act of ineptitude beyond all comprehension. But while the inexperience of the operator was the trigger factor, it was not his ineptness alone that caused the disaster. No if inept folly was to be laid at the feet of anyone, it was the shift manager that was to blame for giving a job to his corner-cutting nephew in the first place.
Meanwhile at the late manager’s home, his widow attempted to console her grieving sister. Never again would the latter ask a favour, and never again would her sibling offer one.
Padre
Canopy
Under a canopy
A home to be made
Starting life together
Firm foundations to be laid
But a glass shattered
Life’s fragility manifest
A reminder to treasure the one
With whom you were under the canopy blessed
Padre
Humble Destiny
A cobbled lane weaves through the town
And for those that know the way
Their fortunes can along it be made
As they discover destiny
It may seem to you a humble street
Past daub and wattle houses quaint
But there are those there you might meet
With opportunities for you to aquaint
Jack did here meet a man
As his cow to market he led
A few beans he did recieve
Worth great riches, so he said
The rest of the story is well known
Riches he did recieve
So don’t be fooled by humble looks
For their simplicity can deceive
Take your chances
Tread cobbled lanes
Seek your destiny
And you too might
Come to fame
If only you believe
Padre
Gothic 20: Shadows
Shadows – corners where there is no light
The recesses where your hackles rise –
When near them – you dare to go
The unknown – there from prying eyes hide
Prepared from their lair to explode
Shadows – corners devoid of light
The dark of hallways dim
A realm where you should not tread
A place when phantoms live
Padre
The Bridge
Image by Michał Koper from Pixabay
It had been a small engagement, and an unnecessary one. Seventy men fought for a remote bridge that no one really wanted. Both main armies were approaching each other forty miles upstream. Even if they were closer to this position, it was unnecessary. The summer had been dry and the river barely a trickle, especially at the ford which was a mere half mile away. But fought they did.
The Bear Clan had gained the western approach to the crossing just before dawn. Thirty men, some as young as fifteen massed to block the Wolves’ advance. Through the morning mist they could hear the quiet conversations of the forty Wolf-men as they approached, unaware of the Bear’s arrival on the span.
Without warning, or orders, young Kildrin let loose a shaft towards the advancing voices. It fell well short, but served to bring the Wolve’s into battle array.
Forming a wedge the Wolves, led by the veteran Rithard Bonebreaker, mounted the eastern side of the narrow structure. No more than four men could stand abreast, and that made wielding weapons next to impossible. The result was a battle of attrition, with each side plugging the gaps of fallen comrades.
Though braced for the onslaught, the Bears had neither the numbers nor the experience to halt the Wolves in the end.
After nearly thirty bloody minutes, the eight remaining Bear-men broke and fled into the forest beyond, allowing the “invasion force” of the remaining seventeen Wolves to enter their lands.
Padre
The Roommate
Helen stared with disbelief at the hotel. It sat, not in the picturesque valley below as she had anticipated, but on a winding switchback half way up the mountain.
Her college roommate, Sadie had told her that it was luxurious, with a south facing aspect which allowed the guest to take in the splendor of the mountains. South facing aspect with views, Helen mused. All I see is clouds and spitting rain.
Sadie had insisted that they meet on this particular weekend as she had something exciting to show her. “Put it in your diary,” she insisted. “You will meet me there, won’t you? It’s on me, I promise.”
Helen had agreed, and a free weekend getaway on the Continent did have some appeal, especially if it was at a “luxury” hotel with “hot and cold running waiters” like her friend said.
But luxury? There was no pomp to this place at all. It was quint maybe, but it needed some paint, and as far as “hot” staff, that could only be the overheated sixty year old counter receptionist who almost passed out helping Helen carry her tiny case to her room.
Helen waited at the bar (which was empty) for a while, then went back to her “Premium” room which had a lumpy mattress, and artwork that belonged in a charity shop.
Then, four hours after checking in, Helen received a text from Sadie. It read, “Hope you arrived okay. This is for you stealing my boyfriend back in Sophomore year. Hope you have a great stay, and there will be a bill waiting for you at the desk at check out.”
Padre
Night Of Flames
Pixabay
Hamlin scanned the devastation laid out before him. The blackened fields were hazy with the swirls of blowing ash. How had it come to this that the once green pastures could be thus transformed?
The cause lay in the history of the region. Ninety years before, the Riders of the East had staged a mass incursion into the Duchy. Villages were sacked, men slain, and women abducted into slavery upon the steppe.
In its aftermath the Duke ordered the construction of the Horde-Line, a series of stone blockhouses and towers such as the one upon which Hamlin now stood. The Duchy would never again be caught unready, as a perpetual watch was set against the threat.
In addition to the fortifications and their garrisons of watchers, relay stations were set in which riders were every ready to speed new of invasion from the frontier to the cities of the interior. Measures were also taken to insure that any attack would be slowed enough for these riders to complete their missions, and for reinforcements to arrive, huge cisterns of tar and oil were strategically constructed along the frontier. The Eastern Riders would be greeted not only by a shower of arrows from the towers, but with a wall of fire as well.
Then last Tuesday it happened. A young sentry walking the walls of Tower Seven felt a rumbling beneath his feet, and heard the unmistakable sound of hooves in the night. He alerted his captain, and the threat confirmed. Three flare arrows were loosed into the night, but a heavy fog lay upon the surrounding fields. The captain, fearing for not only his Duchy, but for his very life, gave the order for the cisterns to be ignited.
When “Seven’s” tar pits flared, the officers of surrounding fortifications followed suit. Soon the entire border was in flame.
But no arrows responded to the fierce attack of the defenders. No agonizing cries of burning Riders were heard. No, when the flames finally abated, all that was found was the charred remains of a herd of bison, perhaps a thousand strong.
The great attack of The Tuesday of Flames was a mistake. An error in judgement which would change the Duchy’s defense plans forever.
Padre
Dissonance
Image by Bernd Everding from Pixabay
Maestro Geovanni Napoli stepped to the platform and took up his baton. The orchestra, chorus, and principal singers waited for the great man to signal the beginning of the rehearsal.
He gave a quick nod, and the strings began to play and then the entire piece came to life with melodic brilliance. But something was not right. His masterful ear had caught something untuneful, almost nauseating.
“No, no, no,” he bellowed and signaled a halt with the baton.
“Okay, now we will try again,” he said, almost sniffing the air to detect to flaw in the atmosphere.
He again brought in the strings, and the piece again began to flow in exquisite harmony. But after a moment the dissonance was there again.
“Stop! Stop” By all that is holy – stop.”
The rehearsal hall again fell into silence.
“This time as I point to you section,” he said quietly, “I want you to stop. One section at a time however,” the conductor instructed.
Again the piece began, and he signaled the percussion to stop, followed by the male chorus members, then the prima donna, and yet the offending noise continued. He signaled for the brass to halt. It was still there. He continued the process until only the woodwinds and strings continued. There it was. He had isolated it. The caterwauling was coming from the dressing rooms.
Signalling for the piece to resume in full, he quietly walked to the dressing room door to find the shrill notes coming from a loud woman wearing a cleaner’s uniform. She was mopping the floor, oblivious to what was happening around her; her headphones in place, and she belting out a terrible rendition of Madonna’s Material Girl.
Padre
Christine’s Daily Writing Prompt: Shrill: Notes From A Loud Woman
Your Daily Word Prompt – Exquisite – August 28, 2019
Padre's Ramblings 