The Written Word Group

  I walk through the field, through the field of tall grass.  My shoes and trousers wet with the rain drenched grass, running my hands across the tops of the grassy flowers and seed heads, feeling their softness on the palms and fingers of my hands.  As I walk I watch the tall grass swaying in the slight breeze, the way it all moves as the sea, wave after constant wave, moving in an almost hypnotic way.           I listen to the larks as they circle overhead, watch as the butterflies flitter up from the unseen flowers deep within the tall grass, crickets chirruping their song, calling out for a mate or to ward off rivals.  Swallows and Swifts seemingly flying without effort, beaks open to catch flies and other flying insects; swooping and diving, climbing and turning, masters of the air.  Oh to be able to do that, I thought, as I watched one swift skimming the tops of the grass then climbing up with one flap of its wi...

 This is a part of a story/book I have been writing for a number of years called 'The Dance of the Mayflies, from a play of the same name.  One day I will collate all the stories and finish the book, when I get the ideas and inspiration           Marianne looked to her left to see her daughter Sally sat glassy eyed and bored, picking at the hem of her dress.   She then looked to her right and saw Michael, her son staring up at the church roof and looking just as bored as his sister.   The speaker, who had said that he would keep the eulogy short, but had been droning on for at least half an hour, said something and Marianne let out a laugh, but managed to turn it into a cough .   I am only his wife, she thought, what the hell would you know about him, if you’d had to live with him and put up with his philandering and womanising you wouldn’t be saying what you’re saying.   But you only knew him on the golf course...

I, along with the other villagers, knew them as Pepe and María, the friendly couple everyone loved who had the corner shop in the village for almost 10 years.  We all believed they were married and  from somewhere in South America simply because of their skin colour and their accent, but many thought the country of origin could be Perú.    Their shop survived Brexit , despite the difficulties and the increase in prices on imported goods such as tea and biscuits which were the items sold the most; and also the horrors of the pandemic years. Pepe and María carried on providing good service to their  loyal  customers. One morning,  I went to the shop to buy a box of PG tea when I found the shop was closed. On the door was a notice which read: ‘Closed until further Notice’ The villagers were  concerned as the couple never closed their shop, not even during stormy weather. So, rumours  started to go round the village.   Someone commente...