Prompt for Wednesday Stories 5/3/17
· April 27, 2017
Hosted by Debb at Inner Sunshine who says:
Earth Day was last week. How ’bout we have land and water, farms, birds and animals grace our stories next week?
I have to admit, I have spring fever. Here in Minnesota it was like summer, and now we are back to freezing temps and possible snow overnight! So okay, let us be “wild” then, and I will give you some groovy prompts!
Word limit: (believe it!)
How to write — there are many ways (or combinations) this time:
· A 100 word paragraph for each photo
· A story with all or most of the photos
· A story using some or all of these words — or not: pub; tapestry; soap; basket; gown; bee; thief; morning tea. The latter two would have fit well into my last story!
Interesting, I chose the number of words before I chose the photos; I found the words as my last step.
This prompt is a memorial to my dad, of sorts. He was a farmer originally and became an orchardist and gardener in his later years. No doubt he inspired my love of the earth, trees, nature, and of course – animals and birds. I was just thinking of how the first picture, of the ducklings, reminds me of a class of students – do you agree, o my friend Mr. T?
I decided to write 100 words for each picture as follows:
People look at me, they ooh and aah at what they see.
They don’t realise how hard life can be.
My long legs and curvy neck, with wings I can fly up high into the sky.
I stride out over a lake
Aware of a volcanic quake
Any moment a geyser could strike pouring out acidic fumes.
I am of the avian species they assume
I am an oddity in the bird world
Naturalists want to know more
My habitat is toxic to humans.
So they won’t bring their guns
Hopefully I’m safe for now
Another day I’m allowed.
There are so many of us I’m sure we won’t all survive. At the moment we are deemed sweet and cute and gorgeous, as we grow we are designated to feed others.
I don’t mind, really I don’t. It’s in my nature to be helpful to people although some days I wonder if it is all worthwhile.
Jemima Puddle-Duck became famous, immortalised in a book, oh I wish I was famous but alas that story is not mine. I’ll eat the food on the ground, grow big and round and end up on a dinner table.
C’est la vie!
I’m cute and fluffy
But not a puppy
Although still adorable
But my life is deplorable
Living on a chicken farm
Where I will come to harm
Just the same as a duckling
Neither of us will be ageing
I’m rather noisy cheeping away
From dawn to dusk all day
When I’m not pecking at the grains
In the sunshine and in the rain
Just biding my time as those before me
It’s the same in most countries
The humans have to feed
We are here to supply that need
Each hatchling of yellow fluff
Becomes a world of dust.
‘Oh, look George, baby alpacas, aren’t they gorgeous.’
Anne smiled at her two year old. He waved his arms and called out to the animals. They were too busy chomping on the grass. Anne would purchase a skein of their wool from the tourist shop when they finished their farm tour. It would knit up lovely although rather expensive.
What could she make and who for? Oh, maybe she could actually knit something for herself this time instead of always giving it away to other people. She knew it wasn’t always appreciated, not the time nor the effort involved
‘Hey Bill do you see that?’
‘Yes, Bob. What do you think they are?’
‘Well they are bit bigger than us.’
‘But we are cuter,’ said Bob.
Bob proceeded to frolic and caper for a few minutes and then took up his position next to Bill again.
Bill hadn’t stopped watching the alpacas.
Bob got his breath back. He looked down the hill at the group of greedy animals munching away. There were people standing watching them as well.
‘Oh no, they are coming our way.’
‘If we just stand our ground,’ Bill said, ‘they won’t dare come any closer.’
Albert had this field left to seed then he could take a break. It would be well deserved, he’d been sitting in his cab for nearly four hours, up and down the yellow ground, it became rather monotonous, thank goodness for a good radio. He could get lost in his Country and Western music playing oldies, Dolly Parton, George Strait, Reba, Alan Jackson, it made the time go much faster. He’d stop and pour out a cold drink from his thermos flask and eat a sandwich before he called it a day and popped to the pub for a pint.
The shadows became longer as Bert dug his patch of soil. He loved getting in amongst the earth, it felt right to do it by hand. Tractors and new technology was great for those huge fields but it was much nicer to get back to nature and do something yourself.
Doris would be so pleased to have this piece of garden double dug ready for her. She wanted to plant a salad crop and maybe a few herb plants. Doris would be due back from the local garden centre in a couple of hours, so he’d better crack on.