Colyn trudged over the rocky outcrop towards the Lookout, hands jammed in pockets and head bowed against the wailing coastal winds. The sea looked bleak and lifeless, mirroring the dull skies. Hardly a scintillating view to entertain him over the next few hours.
“About time too.”
The watchman on duty eyed Colyn as he entered the cold stone hut. Colyn shrugged.
“If you’re late again, I have no doubt the Commander will have something to say about it. Perhaps he’ll double your hours.”
Crescent moon love bite
Scars the night’s indigo skin,
Framed by leafy silhouettes,
A vision in black and blue.
Emma H, age 26, 14/11/2017
Written for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto – “Luna” photo prompt. To take part or read other entries, you can follow the link here:
Thursday photo prompt – Luna – #writephoto
Sue has posted some beautiful pictures recently for #writephoto but I’ve been too low on time and motivation to get round to writing the stories I have in mind! Therefore, this week, I thought it best to stick to a short and simple tanka. Thanks Sue for the lovely lunar image.
Ash stared at the landscape, sapphire eyes glittered with wonder. The rising sun greeted the rocks with a caressing golden glow; the horizon was tinted candyfloss pink over the moss-green hills. In the azure sky, wisps of cloud were hung like cobwebs, as fleeting and fragile as one’s breath on an icy morning. In every direction the beauty was boundless. This was a place where man had yet to impose his borders and barriers on Mother Nature. And the air was crisp and clean and refreshing. Ash inhaled deeply.
Gilbert the gremlin was grumpy. The setting sun streaming through the tiny window lit his sullen face, exasperated eyes, frustrated frown. Quite frankly, Gilbert had had enough.
“The most important job in the world” the advertisement had boasted, “Invaluable to Effaeria and all of its peoples.” Set hours, no night shifts, great pay, in a beautiful and tranquil setting. He had been over-the-moon when his application was successful and he was granted the role. What Gilbert hadn’t accounted for was the miniscule workspace, the crippling boredom, and the abysmal loneliness. Three hundred years to the day he had dutifully and diligently worked in this tiny windmill, but where was his anniversary celebration? Where were his uncaring employers? Where oh where was the gratitude?
The Queen was troubled. Dressed in her shimmering silver finery, she wore a frown and furrowed brows, long fingernails tapping an impatient tattoo on the arm of her extravagant throne. Her messenger was late.
She knew that he bore important, urgent news, but his journey had taken far longer than she had expected. She feared the worst, knowing that many of her enemies lurked in the villages and woodlands on the fringes of her kingdom. If they had recognised him, they would have killed him for sure.
Melodious strains of lilting birdsong drifted into Serena’s conscious, enticing her back from what felt like the deepest of sleeps. A soft breeze grazed her skin, wisps of hair tickling her cheeks. The air was pleasantly warm, soothing. Her long eyelashes fluttered open cautiously, bright sunlight blasting her retinas until her vision adjusted to her surroundings. She was lying in a dappled glade, shadows shifting as the light breeze played with the verdant branches. A sturdy oak tree towered over her resting place, its anchoring roots bursting through the earth. And intertwined across the ground, lilac and snow-white wildflowers filled the glade with floral fancy.
Crumbled walls, rotten rafters,
Structure reclaimed by Nature;
Cosy cottage no longer.