Haiku From A Picture: Faith Out Of Wood

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From lime wood and oak
faith’s testimony emerged
A forgotten world

copyright Francis Barker 2020

‘The Kissing Game’ Chapter 8, Short Story Serialisation, by Milly Reynolds

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The following morning found Elena knocking at Mary Allen’s door. Her neighbour could see that something was amiss.

“This is getting seriously weird.” Mary brought through a Royal Albert pot of tea and two matching cups and saucers, placing them clumsily on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “Early Grey, Elena, things always go better with Earl Grey.”

Elena wasn’t much in the mood for small talk, she just wanted answers. “What do you think he meant by saying that I feed him?”

Mary flopped down beside her, with a whiff of Chanel 19. “It’s love, isn’t it?”

“Love? But how can it be love?”

Mary poured a little milk into each cup. “I don’t know how, but it is. Love is blind, they say. Never experienced it myself.”

“The problem is that each dream is getting longer, clearer, more real somehow. He even spoke to me, properly this time from his lips, though there weren’t many words. Michael thinks I’m working too hard, but I’m not. I haven’t been able to work for days, I felt quite ill this morning. And I’m getting worried now.”

“About falling to sleep?”

Elena nodded, watching Mary fill up her cup to near the top. “If only I knew who he was, why doesn’t he come out and tell me.”

Mary sat back in the sofa and sighed. “Have you looked at yourself in a mirror in these dreams?”

“I’ve not come across one yet, though I know my hair is a bit lighter than my own, virtually blonde in fact.”

“Then those initials carved in the oak tree, PH, you said?”

“Yes.”

“The P could be you, if he sees you as Persephone and the H is Hades. Unless we’re talking about two historical figures.”

“Like who?”

“It would be a shot in the dark but I’ll give it a go.”

“You mean, find out all the men in the past whose Christian names begin with H? That would be a very long shot.”

“Not all history, Dear. From what you describe he lived somewhere between 1490 and, say, 1600. And there’s already something bugging me about all this.”

“Bugging you!” Elena reached for her cup of tea.

“Yes, I can’t quite put my finger on it, from what you described about him and that initial H… the number twenty three. I don’t know. We’ll go through to my library in a minute, I should’ve been onto this days ago.”

Mary Allen’s library, in fact her spare room, was an eclectic collection of books, old and new, mainly historical, though there was plenty of biography and fiction too. Elena sat down on the wooden chair and watched her friend peruse the massive selection of titles.

“Maybe we should just stick to the internet,” Elena said, eyeing the grey sky out of the window.

“No, no, Dear. Books are far better, especially my books.”

Elena noticed that Mary was drawn particularly to the Shakespeare section, which included a copy of the First Folio.

“Shakespeare, Mary?”

“Hm. You know when I said this fellow’s odd behaviour reminded me of Hamlet’s ghost?”

“Yes.” Elena noticed a book that had Pluto in the title, one of Mary’s astrological books. She stood up and pulled it out of the bookcase. “Can I have a look at this?”

“Of course, Dear, jump in. We need to get to the bottom of this.”

Elena recalled that some astrologers talked about Pluto’s mask, from the myth of Hades, who was said to wear a mask which could make him invisible. “Maybe this isn’t all about Neptune and the Moon after all, like we suspected.”

Mary turned to face her, peering over her reading glasses. “Go on.”

Elena held up the book about Pluto. “Perhaps it’s all about drastic change and masks and hidden things.”

“What makes you say this?”

“It might be a hunch but think we can narrow down the search to someone in history born on February 23. I just know that number means something.”

“You may be right, Dear. Let’s get to it then.”

An hour later, after much intensive searching on the internet and through Mary’s book collection, they had found nothing of apparent significance.

“It’s looking as though I’m going to have to wait until tonight to find out more.”

Mary knelt down beside her, putting a consoling hand on hers. “It is all rather exciting though, isn’t it? I know it’s easy for me to say, but you really can’t beat a good mystery.”

copyright Milly Reynolds 2020

Haiku From A Picture: Wall Stories

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Whitewashed centuries
Stories reveal depth of faith
We merely marvel

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Poem (Haiku) From A Picture: ‘Relative’

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Tattershall, Lincolnshire, England

Life is short, they say
Pain seems interminable
They are relative

copyright Francis Barker 2020

‘The Kissing Game’ Chapter 7, Short Story Serialisation, by Milly Reynolds

blur carefree cute feelings
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The woman in the florists was adamant: There was not even one male member of staff, let alone anyone matching Elena’s description of the young man she thought had served her.

“Back to square one, Dear,” Mary whispered as they exited the florists into the cold drizzle.

“Maybe I dreamed of meeting him here, too,” Elena said, opening her umbrella.

Mary tugged at her arm. “Stick to your guns, you saw what you saw. I believe you.”

“You are probably the only one who would.”

That night Elena didn’t feel much like talking to Michael. Complaining of a headache, she went to bed early and started to read. Unexpectedly, she found herself nodding off within only a few minutes.

She became aware of standing on grass in warm sunlight. It looked like a park of some kind. There was a copse of ash trees on a nearby hillock in full leaf, partly obscuring the sun. What sounded like a flock of geese was squawking away, somewhere nearby, but as yet unseen. It might have been a summer’s evening, it felt too warm to be morning. She was standing by a few large oak trees, and could reach out and touch the bark of the nearest one. Some of it flaked off between her fingers. This time her dress was a dark blue with the widest cuffs she’d ever seen. Looking down, Elena could also see she was wearing a very fine necklace, maybe diamonds and pearls. She touched them, rolling a few between her fingers. They looked and felt real.

Then she spotted something carved into the bark of the nearest oak. A heart and two initials, PH. It had only just registered in her mind what she was looking at, when he stepped out from behind the bole of the tree. She had almost been expecting him. He had that telling little smirk on his face, like some mischievous boy might have. But this boy was definitely a man. He reached forward, pulling her towards him, kissing her gently.

“Elena, you feed me,” he said. This time it was coming from his lips.

“What do you mean? Are you hungry?”

“Elena, you feed me!” His hands clutched his heart in a dramatic stance. He smiled, broadly for the first time and bowed gracefully towards her like some actor.

“I’m glad, I think. But who are you?”

He took her hand and they began to saunter through the grass. It was quite long, there were red splashes of poppies strewn ahead of them, amid the gentle summer fragrances wafting all around. She figured it was around early July. Soon they reached the ash copse and began to follow the path around it. In all this time, they said nothing.

As they cleared the corner of the copse, a large country house came into view at the bottom of a hill. It nearly took her breath away, the mellow golden stone shining in the lowering sun, its tall chimneys as high as steeples. She knew it wasn’t his own house, it was a friend’s, though what they were doing there was anyone’s guess.

He led her down the hill towards the house. There was no one else about, only a few deer and some cows. When they got to the walls she touched them. It all seemed like recent work, newly built.

They entered what appeared to be a courtyard with a tree at the centre, some shade. She sat down as best she could on the wooden seat, the dress was hard to brush underneath. Where had he gone? She became aware of a light high up, it wasn’t the sun. It began to spin round and round.

Elena was sitting on the toilet. 

“Elena? Are you ok?” Michael tapped on the partly open door.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Why were you walking about?”

“What do you mean?”

“I woke up and heard you pacing along the landing and then into the small bedroom.”

“What? I’m… are you sure?”

“Were you sleepwalking?”

“I don’t know, maybe I was.”

“Ok, well, are you coming back to bed?”

“Yes.”

She stood up, looking at her tired face in the mirror, the dark blue nightdress she was wearing.

copyright Milly Reynolds 2020, also on amazon.co.uk