Who travels alone

But I say to you, love your enemies
and pray for those who persecute you,
so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven;
for He makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good,
and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. 

An old hut, hunkering down on its foundations, marks the end of the dirt road ahead. Between the trees, whose dark and slender trunks reach up to spiny branches, an open field lies under a naked white sky, so bright it hurts your eyes.

Like enormous stilted birds looking down, the electricity pylons in the middle of the field watch your arrival with indifference.  You envision them creaking slowly over the dry scrub when the light fades, tottering over the rolling meadows for nothing but a change of scene, unmoved by the insignificant horror played out below.

A crow sits by the side of the road, its feathers spiked and ticking against the cold. Behind it, a make-shift shelter of rusted white iron keeps the first drops of rain off a neatly arranged pile of logs.

The first roll of thunder shakes the still bright sky and the crow takes flight.

Silk and birch

I dreamt last night that I was winding my way through a forest of silver birch trees, tapping each slender trunk with the flat of my palm as I passed.

The ground was dark and mossy, and a heavy fog had crept in, flattening my vision until there was nothing but me and the tree I was touching, all alone in front of a silk curtain patterned with silver shadows. Like whistling in the dark, I kept walking forward, placing my hand against the resistant curve of each trunk before lifting it again and praying that I’d reach the next one before it, too, was nothing but silk.

Recon

Through the dark tangle of branches, Red could see the enemy approaching. They’d not spotted him yet, but they trod cautiously, sensing that they’d crossed over into territory that wasn’t necessarily theirs. While the two sides had yet to draw a firm line between their lands – tensions were too high for any form of negotiation – they both knew where the boundaries were considered to lie, within a few metres at least.

They’d grown in skill, Red noticed. Where previously their scouting parties had comprised the weakest and most expendable, and consequently the noisiest and least adept, members of their crew, they were now led by at least one experienced member, who could keep the rest of them in line and train them up.

They were drawing in now, their glassy eyes bright and alive in the dappled light of the woods. He watched carefully as they scanned the ground and the undergrowth, noticing with dismay how the leader’s eyes flicked up to check the trees. He’d been careful to warn his crew not to flee straight to the trees if spotted; their new look-outs, set high on the strongest branches, were a vital advantage that they had over the enemy and one they couldn’t afford to lose. They’d been able to get closer to their camp than ever before, watching from lofty positions as the enemy troops went about their nefarious business.

An ear-splitting crack broke the silence and the party hit the deck. Red froze where he crouched, resisting the urge to flatten down against the ground, knowing that even the slightest movement could give him away with the enemy just feet away. Despite the peril, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to take him out. Another crack rang out, then shouting.

The crouched figures scattered like mice. Red knew that this was one enemy he couldn’t face down alone. Time to retreat, he thought, as he sank slowly back into the darkness of the undergrowth. His eyes still on the path ahead of him, the hand at the back of his collar came as a surprise. With a bitter laugh, he thought was how many times he’d told his rookies to keep watch all sides. To expect the unexpected.

Red, you amateur…

*    *    *

Red winced. The light above him was blinding after the twilight of the woods and the clatter of the plate as it hit the wooden table in front of him pierced his aching head. His hands, down by his sides, were still gritty from the forest floor, and he curled them into fists, testing their strength. Right now, his platoon would be regrouping as he’d taught them, hiding any traces of his capture and planning a careful rescues mission. He had to stay strong. He would not break.

He looked up at his captor, her cruel words interrupting his thoughts.

“Derek, I said eat your potatoes. And if I catch you messing about in them woods and lobbing shit at Mrs Singh’s kids again, there’ll be no football for a week.”

The plate of lumpy mashed potatoes and gravy in front of him steamed ominously.

There would be no mercy.

If trees were dreams ♥

I spotted this amazing photograph on the Green Renaissance Facebook group and wanted to share it here.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if these trees were dreams? From a distance, they all look the same, but imagine if you could fall asleep and wander over that vivid carpet of ferns, and press your cheek up against any one of those trees to hear all the echoes of its life.  There’s no end to the forest in this photo – you could just go on forever, getting dream, after dream, after dream…

Lovely ♥

Image by the amazing Chad Galloway photography

 

Visual writing prompts #3 – Forests

On my quest to find more beautiful pictures to act as visual writing prompts, I came across  a certain Mr Rudolf Vicek, aka d o l f i on Flickr.

Based in the Czech Republic, Vicek takes some of the most stunning shots of forests that I’ve ever seen. Without writing the next Twilight novel (please, no one needs that), why not take a look at these photos and  see if you can get some inspiration?

All rights reserved © Rudolf Vicek

Time for bed

The world can be a strange and frightening place. 

But it can also be beautiful.

N’night.

x

(Source: unknown)