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: 700 (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.
