Milly Reynolds – English Crime Fiction Author

man lights legs silhouette — Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

Here are some quintessentially English ebooks for you to read this summer, or at any time, by British based crime fiction author, Milly Reynolds.

These books won’t break the bank, they are not too long, and they are relatively easy reading – perfect on your kindle (and elsewhere) for that up and coming summer vacation, or at any time.

The main character is Mike Malone, now sleuthing the relatively quiet streets of Lincolnshire in the east of England.

However, just underneath this rather pleasant, amiable veneer of a peaceful small market town and its outlying farms, lie hints (sometimes stronger hints) of his murky and tragic past, which have a way of bubbling to the surface.

Here too, the sense of the tranquil, gentile country lifestyle, is misleading; it’s always vulnerable to some quirky crimes, leading Mike Malone on a ‘merry dance’ around his patch, seemingly in pursuit of tea and good home cooking as much as the murderer.

There are other books too, with a wide range of characters, such as Jack Sallt, a detective with a distinctly harder edge to his personality.

Milly Reynolds books on Amazon

Milly Reynolds on Smashwords

Milly Reynolds Blog

Milly Reynolds Website

Poem: Anonymous Lines

Downstairs any morning;
sunlight and smoke
in slow swirling clouds.
The cat wanders in,
cries and wanders out,
flopping down the step
toward shrill sparrow sounds.

An open passage door
through which I follow
into a past, or no time at all.
Gooseberries hairy in the mouth,
that sour shock at the crunch.
Raspberries sweet on the tongue;
peas plucked from the pod,

sitting between rows of green.
His shadow blots out the sun,
a tall silhouette, cap pushed back
as a match is struck.
I follow to runner beans
and strawberry rows,
where the cat rolls over and over.

He is distant now, never hurried,
where it all opens up,
when I cling to his leg
looking down on the dyke
where the moorhen struts.
Out onto prairie fields,
anonymous lines of roads

and pylons. A relentless horizon.

copyright Leofwine Tanner 2019 and 2011

*If you would like personal astrology report, please contact me at: leoftanner@gmail.com for details.

Astrology Musings: The Third House

ground group growth hands — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Sometimes it’s good to get back to basics. Actually it’s fundamental, if you don’t have a base, there’s nothing to build on.

So as the sun is in Gemini at the moment, I thought I’d have a quick look at its mundane house equivalent, the third house.

Gemini is of course the first of the air signs, and is mutable or changeable in quality. It’s ruled by Mercury.

Big Subject

The third house, therefore, is to do with communication – but that’s a big subject, right?

Communication can cover all of this: speaking, writing, office work, learning, education, reporting, walking, riding a bike or motorcycle, driving a car, delivering, local business, visiting…

But it’s also to do with our nearest relations and neighbours; brothers, sisters, cousins etc. and our local community in general.

Phew! It covers quite a lot, which we perhaps might suspect with the airy and mutability associations.

An Example

So what might it mean in practical astrological terms?

One example from the past that I can recall was this lovely lady, sadly long gone now. She had the Sun in Libra conjunct Venus and Mercury in the third house.

I didn’t know her until she was well into her sixties, but she retained a youthful air; quite tall, fast walking and nimble, always smiling, courteous, never having a bad word to say about anyone.

And she could never do enough for her neighbours, simply visiting, chatting, getting groceries, perhaps driving them to the shops.

Embedded in the Community

She was a retired teacher, though still ran evening classes where she lived. She was a big organiser of local events, often for charity. And she had never married – she’d simply been too busy!

She had dedicated her life to the local school for thirty five years, then fully engaged with her community in other ways when she retired.

As you can see, that Sun, Venus, Mercury conjunction in Libra, in the third house, pretty much encapsulates a large part of her life.

*If you would like a personal astrology report, please contact me at: leoftanner@gmail.com for details.

Here are some quintessentially English ebooks for you to read this summer, or at any time, by British based crime fiction author, Milly Reynolds.

Rate this:

Share this:

Downstairs any morning; sunlight and smoke in slow swirling clouds. The cat wanders in, cries and wanders out, flopping down the step toward shrill sparrow sounds.

An open passage door through which I follow into a past, or no time at all. Gooseberries hairy in the mouth, that sour shock at the crunch. Raspberries sweet on the tongue; peas plucked from the pod,

sitting between rows of green. His shadow blots out the sun, a tall silhouette, cap pushed back as a match is struck. I follow to runner beans and strawberry rows, where the cat rolls over and over.

He is distant now, never hurried, where it all opens up, when I cling to his leg looking down on the dyke where the moorhen struts. Out onto prairie fields, anonymous lines of roads

and pylons. A relentless horizon.

Rate this:

Share this:

Sometimes it’s good to get back to basics. Actually it’s fundamental, if you don’t have a base, there’s nothing to build on.

Big Subject

An Example

Embedded in the Community

Rate this:

Share this:

Downstairs any morning;
sunlight and smoke
in slow swirling clouds.
The cat wanders in,
cries and wanders out,
flopping down the step
toward shrill sparrow sounds.

An open passage door
through which I follow
into a past, or no time at all.
Gooseberries hairy in the mouth,
that sour shock at the crunch.
Raspberries sweet on the tongue;
peas plucked from the pod,

sitting between rows of green.
His shadow blots out the sun,
a tall silhouette, cap pushed back
as a match is struck.
I follow to runner beans
and strawberry rows,
where the cat rolls over and over.

He is distant now, never hurried,
where it all opens up,
when I cling to his leg
looking down on the dyke
where the moorhen struts.
Out onto prairie fields,
anonymous lines of roads