The Ocean Symphony

The sea is perfectly calm today. Even the waves seem to be asleep.

He watched his wife, her eyes closed, her gentle snores synchronized to the ocean’s soft lullaby. Candy-floss clouds moved lazily across a clear sky, as the sun gleamed brightly forcing him to squint and look down.
The water moved softly around his outstretched fingers, nonchalantly caressing, eddying in its wake. He pulled his hand out watching the droplets drip, as gravity greedily sucked it in to the saline below, each one swiftly haloed by ever-growing rings, distorting the peaceful transparent sheath. His hand is cold, but his face is warmed by the summer sun.
Beside him the snores start to get louder as she takes in the ocean’s salty breath.
Smiling contently, he placed the headphones over his ears, allowing Bach’s symphony to override the ocean’s.

Eyes closed, he neither saw the fin circling, nor heard the screams from the distant shore.

In response to Susan Spaulding’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge, based on her photo prompt.

Oh the seasons

In response to Frank’s Tuesday Photo Challenge, a humorous take on the seasons four…

Hot days are past
Winter is here
Frost Giants aren’t real
But sleet’s a real fear
We rake leaves no more
Instead we get to shovel snow

The lakes are filling
The flowers start to bloom
A burst of colour
No more winter gloom
But good days pass fast
and sun’s about to blast

Goodness gracious
Great ball of fire
Even without budging
I still do tire
Will all the perfumes of Arabia
not camouflage this odor of mine!

The trees are shedding
making a really pretty mess.
Too bad I cant say the same
about the shedding of my tress.
Tis the perfect season for my bones old.
Its not too hot, and its not too cold.


PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

My heart sinks. The river is wider than I had imagined. Swifter. Stronger. An ominous muddy turbid brown. I do not see any fishes, and I wonder why.

Unbroken dense clouds darken to burnt orange and gun metal gray. The rain will wash away my footprints and remove my scent from the bracken.

I should leave now.

The little canoe that I had planned to make my getaway on, now looks like it will be my coffin, carrying me out to sea rather than to the opposite bank.
If I go forward, most likely it will be my doom. If I turn back without help, I doom them all.

I get into my little boat.

In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of 27th October based on a photo by Roger Bultot

The bigger picture

I’m staring at the picture thinking of a story…

At the beautiful brilliant green moss that brings the drab grey ruins alive.

But if there were no ruins what would the moss climb over. If it were a mansion, inhabited and alive, would its occupants give the moss the liberty to grow unfettered? If the window panes had not crumbled, would the sun be able to soak the ground with its warm love?

There is so much beauty in life, and yet there is just as much beauty in decay. Neither could be defined without the other.

I’ve been staring at the picture thinking of a story.

But the picture is the story.

In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of 1st September based on a photo by Roger Bulltot

The dwellers


This is my home

the habitat where I dwell

But you come along

raising all hell.


Call me a bug

try to exterminate

Self-assured of your constant

right to dominate.


The leaves are mine

the earth I leave to you

Extend me the same courtesy

and politely bid adieu.

In response to Frank’s Tuesday Photo Challenge – Bugs

Perfect beauty

Sarah realised that it was the third time this week that she was leaving at dawn, but when you are at the precipice of a breakthrough there was no time for rest. The results had finally come back and the figures looked more than satisfactory. This work was going to revolutionise the cosmetic industry. Thanks to them, perfect beauty was no longer a dream.

Her phone buzzed just as she reached the parking lot. “Sarah, there’s an anomaly. I don’t think we can ignore it.”
Shit. This was going to be another 48 hour day!

Above her, the sun took its first peek, streaking the sky with foamy waves of orange, pink and fire, an eager debutante trying to make shy acquaintance.

But the phone kept buzzing and Sarah was too busy to stop and say hello.

In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers’ 120 challenge based on photo prompt by Footie and Foodie