Black Storm

Butterflies never came today. Birds, plumage ruffled fly to nests urgent, swift, quiet. Small creatures scuttle and hide. Caterpillars cling to stems ceaseless munching. Thick dark sky descends. No scud of clouds. They, long gone, turned day to night moonless. Wind chimes swing hysterical. Un-staunched, gale blows churning steadfast bushes, tossing blossoms. A window tears loose, storm brings out in. Frangipani towering staggers slightly, firmly rooted, bark armoured, it looks about concerned. Splinters of lightning streak between its branched foliage fiercely parted. Rain descends in sheets. Frogs blink wet their rain choruses drowned. The day thwarted waits, perhaps to return.

Banquet

In a slow five-point cartwheel, through the heat-haze, it came as I lay on the wood-floored portico of the Thai Approbation Office. Soft suction pads settled on me. A cool blanket. I smiled. Its stomach crawled out, scored my flesh, siphoned my juices, sucked my bones, digested my body, leaving only my head behind. Dripping blood? No. Sweat. I had dozed off. I awoke to heckling that drowned the sound of salty sea waves. Icy juice vendors and paper boys hawked nearby. Ropes of silent ants had crawled into my basket of deep-fried starfish. A customer, thrusting money, demanded two.

Three words had to be incorporated in this 100 word flash fiction. Starfish was fine but other two weird: “approbation and portico”.

Tiger Year Dragon Dance

Northern cold, eleven degrees. Sky overcast. Tiger, element metal, waited his turn, began today in heavy drizzle. Sent dragon passionate in red and spring spirit in green. Hastening growth, breathing clouds of shifting fog. Tall boys carry bamboo poles, flags of colours strong. Procession drenched, wet hair, soggy shoes. Tiger-sent-Dragon dances up slope, stops at gate. Vibrant passion, valiantly leaps, gyrates to voice of gongs. Cymbals drown birds sounds in sullen branches. Dragon, eyes rolling, collects fortune packet. Fire crackers burst, cordite, evil spirits cast off. Lettuce strewn for new start he backs away wishing us Gong Xi Fa Cai.

Once I was small, Christmas trees were tall. Now I am tall (well almost) Christmas trees are tinsel, made in China. Elegantly they sit on window sills, fairy lights flicker fade. Christmas is blurred, fluidly changed. A God’s birthday counted down and god managers preach intolerance, separation. Weak hymns in churches half filled and midnight mass at ten pm. Carols sung in languages foreign. Drunk, feasting. Gifts purchased, wrapped, waiting. Santa on the horizon. Who draws his sleigh – camels, buffaloes, kangaroos? Solar panels, no sooty chimneys. Here comes Santa, oops he … She. Small. Points digital camera at me.

December pleasant enough. White orchids still bloom. Red rose hidden in green foliage. Happy bamboo sways bulbuls tweeting love. Excited sparrow tribes hop about, magpies quarrel. All search worms slumbering hidden in twigs. Three sandpipers in from the beach not far. Doves strut about. Concrete homes trap winter. Indoor chill registers 8c. No central heating or other. Cheerful, summer windows built for breeze allow gales seek shelter. Pullover, jacket, socks doubled, feet on antique Tibetan rug. Hands in cut-off gloves, fingers numb with cold tap on keys. Ideas flow leisurely, phrases, sentences, paragraphs. Short stories blossom like the winter garden.