Newsletter APRIL 2021
NOSE IN THE TROUGH
A SAFE and PEACEFUL EASTER to EVERYONE
I felt proud to be asked to hold an author signing/talk morning at the Twiga Book shop in Gympie Wednesday 7th April.
I do hope you join me if travelling in the area.
Current Weather and Tides
It has been head-down and butt up with my nose in the trough of research. Like all feed troughs some of the contents holds no interest. Some items in the trough may not be what you really need at this time but will keep the nostrils busy sniffing their content. But within every trough there is always some really tasty titbits which has one slobbering. And so, it has been for me this week.
Keep safe. Keep smiling. Keep reading. Keep writing.
A Pearl for your Enjoyment
For this homework we were asked to write down: 2 visual details, 2 sounds, 2 tactile senses, 2 smells and 2 tastes associated with a setting. Write a short story including some or all of these.
FAMILIAR IS GOOD
The lawn tickled his bare legs where he sat studying the problem in front of him. Concentration marked his pale face. This changed quickly to distaste when the bitter flavour of a grass leaf he had been chewing registered inside his conscious mind. The saliva-frothed greenery flew away on the wind when he spat three times in rapid succession. Fingers wiped roughly at his tongue.
He settled to watch an ant, weighed down by a load many times its own size, as it disappeared into a hole? Fingers probed at the entrance in an effort to discover the tunnel. Blue eyes studied the mud attached to his digits. He rotated his hands and clenched his fists. His eyes lit up when he discovered how it squelched and spread a brown film over his hand.
Mrs. Mangle’s music flooded the neighbourhood, as it did every morning at 10 am. The boy’s head lifted – ears alert, but only for a moment. The squabbling lorikeets on the ground under the feeder dangling from the Leopard tree were far more interesting. Their coloured wings spread and closed as they jumped and settled to scavenge amongst the yellow petals carpeting the ground where excess birdseed lay concealed. Small hands slapped over his ears when their raucous protests became too much. A grimace replaced the curiosity on his face.
His attention returned to the ants when a new arrival, enroute to the ants’ hole, chose to take a short-cut – over his ankle. Dried mud stained his feet as his frantic hands brushed this ant from his skin. A shiver danced down his body. Not only in response to the fine legs of the insect amongst the light down on his legs but at the sudden chill over his skin when a gust of sea breeze drifted in from the coast. A taste of salt settled in his mouth.
Several more ants sent whispered warnings of their presence when they used his legs as a highway. He kicked out, brushing with his dirty hands as he did so. The cherub face screwed up in displeasure.
A descending cloud of familiar perfume drifted down around him like an elf’s cloak. Relief stole the threatened tears when he looked up to see the white froth of petticoats – a shady retreat from the hot sun. Chubby arms reached upwards.
Secure in a familiar hold he laughed. He knew the sound of his mother’s feet as they tapped along the cement path to the back door. Hunger pains drove everything from his mind as the aroma of dinner cooking wafted out of the kitchen.