Viking sword from Lesja Oppland, discovered 2017
She swings again, the blunt-edged sword whistling past his ear by a hair’s breadth. He slices upward with his own wooden blade. Continue reading
Who’s Gettin’ Schooled?
fairy tale
Jack the Ripper Spins
There’d be no dancing in the pub that night. Air quality alerts had been on “Severe” for the past three months, and the popular Sorrowing Gnome, with its airtight construction, was filled with exhausted workers. Pub owner Tommy Finn leaned an elbow against the bar and stared at the TV above.
Cora’s Fireweed
September’s last rays paled as velvet breezes whispered of long nights to come. Cora nestled deeper into a warm hollow at cliff’s edge, ignoring the salt sway of the fjord below.
The Journey Back
Norwegian Forest Cat
Peter pulled boots over calves lengthened and strengthened by his transition from boy to youth, and seasoned by grief over his sister’s death. Four years ago she’d been found in the depths of the Dark Wood, her cat pressed against her cold belly, hissing at all who approached. Continue reading
A priest, a rabbi and a lady snake charmer walk into a bar…
Blast from the past, or “You HAD to encourage her, didn’t you!?”
Tracy Fabre and Con Chapman, from back in the Gather days: In a comment on his Gather post today, Con said he wanted to go into the business of providing writing prompts. I “hired” him (pro bono, of course) to suggest a prompt for this week. He said, “A priest, a rabbi and a lady snake charmer walk into a bar…”
Now run with it, folks. Continue reading
Lilimor and the Fiddler
Lilimor gazed across the field of wild strawberries into the Great Wood. She didn’t have enough berries to fill her basket, but the fiddle called her to the waterfall within. Its song enticed, one she almost recognized and had to sing. Continue reading
Happy Santa Lucia Day! (Dec 13th)
We waited, stamped our feet in the deep snow. Night was at its longest; Bitter Winter ruled. Today Santa Lucia would arrive, her crown of candles pushing back the darkness, her basket of hot cranberry-cardamom buns and those sweet, tiny oranges swinging heavy on her lissome arm.
But the dawn didn’t come. Continue reading
