Fortuitous Tide

Reminder: Free short story – see below ‘A Pearl for Your Enjoyment’

Shadows Across Cape York” – the third book in the trilogy following “Shadow of the Northern Orchid” and “Shadows on the Goldfield Track” is up and away. Since Christmas, I have ordered the E-book conversion and that should be available within two weeks.

I plan a trip to the Darling Downs next month to deliver books to my outlets in that area.

Current Weather and Tides

Still entranced with the history of the Australian Light Horsemen. They have such an amazing and often unsung history. We are reminded at every turn not to get too carried away with one’s research. Once again, I find myself not doing as I am told.

Keep safe, Keep smiling, Keep reading, Keep writing.

Elizabeth Rimmington

A Pearl for your Enjoyment

This story evolved from a homework writing prompt. “My gaze was drawn upwards as my brain tried to comprehend what I was seeing.


My gaze was drawn upwards as my brain tried to comprehend what I was seeing. Had I fallen asleep in the shade of the tree growing on the hillock in the middle of Dad’s paddock of maize? My two black dogs lay stretched out on either side of me. Their sides heaved and their tongues lolled over the side of their mouths after our morning run. If I had slept it cannot have been for too long.

Once more I peered out towards where the strange phenomenon in the sky rose above the southern horizon – a dark shadow in a V-formation. The shadow widened as it approached at speed, throwing a deep shade across the earth beneath. A ripple of fear tickled my heart rate. I sat up and stared in disbelief. A black cloud, but not a rain cloud. Can it be? Please, not now when Dad’s first crop in three years looked so promising.

Anxiety and fear set my heart pounding. It rattled my rib cage. It stilled my response mechanism. One side of my mind instructed me to phone Dad and let him know of the impending doom, but my reluctance to see sadness add more deep lines to his face and increase the number of grey hairs on his head held my hand. The other side of my mind refused to accept. Maybe this hoard of locusts might fly right over and bypass our farm. The cloud covered the sun. The rustling sound of millions of winged bodies told me they planned to land in the middle of our crop.

The first brown body landed on the green jeans covering my thigh. It jumped six feet away and stopped to look at me while my waving arms brushed frantically at my legs. The dogs sprung up and, with their heads swinging back and forth, they barked furiously at the intruders. Other insects landed on the dogs, on the grass, and on me. Hardest to accept were the millions landing on my father’s maize crop.

I dragged the phone from my pocket and dialled. In those few minutes, it took to make the dreaded call, my eyes gazed out upon the once green crop fast turning a nasty brown.

As grandad told anyone who stopped to listen, “You have to be part mad to be a farmer. If the drought doesn’t get you the floods will and if you manage to escape those options, a plague will be sent to rub your nose into the dust.”