Hill Climb

(My photo – Cothelstone Hill)

In the wooded area on the path leading up to the hill, there are echoes of chainsaws and people’s voices. It grates as I pass them, my irritation showing in my quickening steps. The rational part of me knows that what they’re doing is important, but it doesn’t matter. I came for a quiet walk and now it’s been ruined. But as I move further away and higher up on the hill, everything lifts. How could it not with this view? The beauty of it, the vastness and space. I pass the small herd of Exmoor ponies clustered under the trees, shaking the flies off their heads and swishing their tails. They gaze at me with curiosity and I can only love them just as I love this place. It seems to burst out of me and any rancour I may have had at the noise is long gone. When I go back down the hill and encounter it again, I smile. It no longer matters.

The infinite sky
in each of us
a silent breath

The Ventriloquist

Photo by Shivam Maurya on Pexels.com

I practise for hours, ventriloquizing my voice to the dummy in my hand, going over and over the ‘d’ and ‘b’ sounds, the ‘v’ and ‘p’ consonants that are so hard to pronounce without pressing the lips together. Instead, they sound like ‘th’ and ‘ph’ but no matter. I will get this right, I’m determined. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. I have until nine before the show begins. I throw my voice again and it sounds perfect (or so I imagine). I place the dummy in its case and go to change. Outside it starts to rain.

Across the street from my room, I see a man in a suit. He carries a briefcase as well as an umbrella. His stride is long and purposeful. In the opposite direction walks a woman. I imagine them stopping as they reach each other, and dancing together in the rain, like in some Fred Astaire film. But of course, they don’t. Instead, they walk past in mute silence.

A crow complains from the roof. Its voice is loud and demanding. Then more appear. At least three. Isn’t that a murder of crows? One of them is an albino, materialising in a sudden flurry of white on black, black on white. I find a forgotten five-pound note in my jacket pocket and bless them three times for my luck. When I next check my watch, I see that it’s time to leave. I walk to the case and look in. The dummy stares back at me and never says a word.

Shadow puppets…
three crows scold me
from a slate-grey sky

This is a piece I'd written about eight or nine years ago. I don't think I knew what to make of it at the time, but on revisiting some of my past work, I feel it deserves a space on my site. It's a bit weird and I was going to leave it for halloween. But on reflection I decided that things seem scary enough at the moment, so now is as good a time as any.