Windy Day #CCC

The wind whipped through the dry wheat and the water on the lake. The old blades of wind mill whirled around, the gears and grinding stones inside the mill also turned.

For once, the villagers were thankful for the aiding weather as they had a lot of work to do before winter arrived. There was the harvest to gather in, grain to be crushed then some to be stored and other bags to be sent to the bakeries.

The air was hazy with dust and the smell of baking. A good sign as it meant their bellies would be full over the frozen months.

 

(Inspired by; https://crispinakemp.com/2019/09/18/crimsons-creative-challenge-45/ with thanks).

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Dustsceawung #atozchallenge

Dustsceawung; contemplation of the dust. Reflection on former civilizations and peoples on the knowledge that all things will turn to dust.

I dreamed again last night. Everything was gone. Dust storms blew through empty buildings and burnt out cars. The wind howling like a dying animal, the sound amplified.

I walked, face wrapped in a scarf. There was a children’s playground. A skeleton against the wire fence. Didn’t like real. Reminded me of models in classrooms. The skeleton had yellowed bones. Fingers curled around holes in the wire fence. Empty eye sockets staring. Mouth open in scream.

Instantly, the skeleton crumpled. Dust at my feet which the wind blew away from me. Crying out, I ran away. Tripped and fell. Dust in my eyes, nose and mouth. Dust suffocating me! Wind deafening me. Gone. Gone. Gone.

We are all dust. We come from dust and we return to dust.

Thus, the circle goes on forever.

 

(Join in the challenge here; http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com)

Windy Day

I surrendered to the wind and give up trying to sweep the leaves out of my house.

Storm Doris

England braced itself for the worst storm of the winter. Heavy rain fell, causing fast flowing streams to run down the side of the road. Large puddles gathered and formed mini lakes. The wind whipped up into a gale and swept up everything it could. In the higher lands, snow fell thickly.

People battled through the elements. Driving their cars out into the storm named as Doris, determined not to let ‘a little rain,’ halt their day. Soon though they had no choice as the wind swept the rain in sheets and caused all the coastlines to become tidal pools. Cars were turned about and those people who had walked hurried back home.

Reports came flying in about people being injured, public transports being cancelled, delayed and the traffic at a stand still. It was an all day storm and people should stay at home. Instead though, those that could, hurried to the shops and brought everything possible. Full shelves suddenly became empty and cupboards became full.

The wind roared, making the sea hit the wave breaking walls and wash up and over into the seaside towns. People gathered to see the waves but were driven back by the strong winds and spraying water. They retreated to the safety of their homes and watched storm Doris rage.

 

Shine

 

The streetlamps’ orange glow reflected off the slowly falling snow, making the flakes shine like fairy lights. Then a gentle wind twisted the flakes away and they fell to the all ready white carpeted ground.

From her bedroom window, Charity watched and wished she could go out to play. However, the clock stated it was two am, well passed her bedtime. She sighed and watched the glass mist up under her nose. She pressed a finger to the mist patch, going to draw a C for her name when an idea came into her head.

Grabbing her desk chair, she put it against the window sill and climbed on top of it. With a lot of effort, she opened the top window. A blow of freezing air drifted into the room and around her. Ignoring it, she stretched her small hand out of the window.

A snowflake landed in her palm. She giggled at the coldness and watched it melting. Reaching out as far as she could, Charity felt more snow landing against her skin. She twirled her hand in it, feeling the softness of the flakes then the wetness as they melted.

Drawing back a frozen hand, Charity watched the snow falling thicker and faster. The streetlamps were the only lights on in the street, but they now could not penetrate through the white flurry. Darkness crept back in, making the snowflakes lose their magic and turn eerie looking.

The wind picked up, gusting the snow around and through Charity’s window. Gasping, she reached up to close it, but felt the wind tugging the latch away from her. Charity yanked the window close, but lost her balance on the chair at the same time and tumbled to the floor.

Landing hard, Charity tried not to cry out. She bite back tears and caught her breath. Slowly getting up, she rightened the chair and peered out of the window again. Snow was hitting her window hard and she could no longer see passed it. The winter storm that the news had warned of earlier and her parents had tutted over, had finally arrived.

Wiping her face, she put the chair back under the desk. Then going to the window again, she half drew the curtains. A few minutes ago, she had hardly heard anything, but now Charity could hear the wind howling and the snow hitting everything. Shivering, she went back to bed and hugged her favourite bear tightly.

 

(Prompt from; https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/shine/)

Mug

He noticed the mug in the frosted over window and decided to go in. The front and back doors were locked and boarded over with thick wood. However, a broken window allowed him access. He put his rucksack and sleeping bag through first. Then being careful not to snag any of his clothes, he squeezed in and found himself in a kitchen.

There was very little left. Just a few cupboards and the sink. He tried the light switch, but found the power to be off. Next he tried the sink taps. No water came out which meant there was none or it was frozen in the pipes.

Collecting his rucksack and sleeping bag, he decided to see the rest of the house. Every room was almost empty. There were a couple chairs knocking about, scraps of newspapers, a few books and empty cans. The walls were blank and the floors bare. The abandoned house felt colder then it did outside.

He went back to the kitchen after his wander. Putting his stuff down again, he decided it was better then nothing. He went to the window and looking out the dirty glass, he saw it was snowing. The flakes were melting just as fast as they were falling though. The wind seemed to be picking up though and the sky was already darkening.

Looking around the kitchen, he found a cupboard door that had come off and was resting on the floor. Picking it up, he used it to cover the broken window and that helped lessen the draft from outside a bit.

Then even though he didn’t really want to, he got his sleeping bag out and set it in the far corner of the kitchen. The window was further down, but still close if anyone else decided to come in. He got in the sleeping bag still wearing his shoes and coat. He lent against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

Looking at the mug on the other window sill above the sink, he wonder who had left it there. The last owner of the house? A builder? The new owner who’d stripped the place then maybe ran out of money to carry on? Perhaps, it had even been another person like him?

A homeless cast out. Forgotten by everyone, seemingly invisible in many places and surviving however they could. Until, God decided the struggling was over and called them back.

Trying to keep warm, he changed his mind into getting some sleep. Letting the wind howling be his lullaby, he dozed fitfully, never falling completely into the dream realm. It was a sad habit he had gotten into over the years. Too many times people had robbed what little he had or kicked him whilst he slept in doorways and upon street corners. Even though the abandon house should have been safe, he didn’t trust it.

The wind continued to howl outside, sending the snow flying thickly. Night came, a seemingly impenetrable darkness. The only sounds to be heard were the wind and the house creaking and moaning.

He listened to those noises as he lay awake. There was nothing unusual about them and he was too old to believe in ghosts. He settled onto the floor, using his rucksack as a lumpy pillow. He rested, trying not to fall asleep. However, days of walking and not eating had taken it’s toll. He fought actual sleep off for has long as he could, but give in without fully knowing.

When he next awoke, he was warm but still cold. Sitting up, he looked around then turned his face to the window. It was lighter out there now, but still looked like night time. He got out of his sleeping bag, regretting it, but knowing he had too. Going to the window, he looked out and saw it was daytime. The snow had stopped falling too and it was time he moved on again.

 

Stormy Weather

It was autumn on the cusp of winter weather at it’s full force.

The cruel icy wind blew a gale not carrying what it swept away. The nearly hibernated trees lost all their remaining leaves and some branches as well as they seemed to hang on for dear life. The wind rattled doors and windows, seeping inside and spreading the cold further.

The rain coated everything, dripping and clinging where it could. Massive pools of water formed on the ground and ran down the sides of roads. Umbrellas and coats were defenseless against it as if the rain was determined that everything should be soaking wet.

The sky was dull grey. No sun or moon to be seen nor any cloud shapes to be made out. There was just a flat stretch of nothing reaching above a darkening, strangely quiet city.

I turned my eyes away from the window at last. I checked the fire was still roaring and had enough logs. Then went back to my book. For today was the perfect day for staying safety inside.

Post It Note #27

The wind whispers in the bare trees and you hear someone say your name. You turn but there is no one there. A shiver runs down your back and you listen hard, but you can’t hear anything other then the rain falling and the wind rustling the dead leaves. A scream sounds in your ears causing you to bolt with fright and become lost in the woods.

Moor

They say if you listen closely it’s not the wind that’s crying but the poor souls that have been lost upon the moor.

Potatoes

Lily stood by the sink and peeled the potatoes. She stared out of the kitchen window as she did so, daydreaming as a soft rain fell into the now bare garden. Only days before it had been a minefield of ready vegetables and herbs, now there was only freshly turned mud and grass. The apple tree was still out there though, but its branches were now empty and bracing itself in the cold winter wind.

With the potato peeled, she placed it in the sink of cold water with the others. Lily picked up another one and applied the metal peeler to the potato’s skin. She had been half tempted to leave the skins on after she had scrubbed them clean, but Jack- her husband- didn’t like the skins and so far she had been unable to convince him that they were good.

‘All this self-sufficient stuff,’ Lily grumbled.

She turned the potato over and peeled the other side, before putting it into the water. Actually, she thought as she looked into the sink, we’ve not done that badly this year. For the hundredth time she counted the potatoes. There were six in the sink and another ten waiting to be peeled. Plus, there were some smaller ones, which she wasn’t sure what to do with yet. Maybe just boil them? But these ones are good for the pie.

Lily turned back and selected another potato. Arming herself with the peeler once more, she began again. She hummed along to a song on the radio, which she had left on, but turned down low in the background. She cast her eyes over to the stove and saw that the stewing beef was still cooking nicely. The chopped carrots and onions were in the pan next door, sitting in cold water and waiting to be turned on.

Plopping the newly peeled potato in, Lily grabbed another one and stopped. Out of the kitchen window she could see a ginger tom cat on the back fence. Frowning, she watched the cat moving across towards the chicken coop. The chickens and the rooster seemed unaware of their stalker. Lilly banged on the window. The cat, if it did hear the noise, didn’t stop.

Lilly threw down the peeler and potato, went to the back door welcome mat and pulled off her house slippers. She yanked on her wellies and opened the door. The cat paused on the fence. She stepped out and stomped over.

‘Shoo! Shoo!’ she shouted and waved her hands in the motion.

The cat hissed and arched its back. Lily got right up to the fence and almost in its face, before the cat decided to flee back the way it had come. Putting her hands on her hips, Lily turned around and surveyed the garden. To her left, the chickens, behind the wire mesh, were now clucking and staring at her. To the right, Gertie the goat and Gus the pig were also watching her from their pens.

‘It’s not dinner time yet,’ she told them all and marched back inside.

She shut the door and changed her shoes. Going back to the potatoes, she wondered why she had let her husband drag her into this. Maybe this is his substitution for children? She thought, though just getting a dog or two would have been better. Sighing, she went to the meat and stirred it. She then checked the carrots and onions, before realising that she hadn’t turned them on due to having to sort out the potatoes. Speaking of which, she added and turned back to them.

She peeled the last few, swirled them in the water and then picking each one out, cut them into cubes. These she then put into the pan and switched it on. Stirring the vegetables together, her mind moved on to thinking about making the pie pastry. Lily had never thought of herself as a chef, but ever since Jack had started ‘his little project,’ it had felt like that was what she had become and actually it had given her another way to spend the time, now that she had officially lost her job and another one seemed beyond her reach.

As much as it seems like a struggle and I’ve hated some parts, I could actually start to like life like this, she thought with a smile on her face.