Events, circumstances, etc.,
have their origin in ourselves.
They spring from seeds which we have sown.

~ Henry David Thoreau ~
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Hosted by Sue Vincent

Thursday photo prompt: Gaurdian #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

For visually challenged writers, the image shows a flower-strewn cliff-top above the sea, where a rocky outcrop, seemingly shaped into many forms and faces, looks out over the waves.

Hide and Seek

by Teresa Smeigh May 2020

“This is boring,” Carl said, wiping the sweat off of his face with his shirt.

“Oh, Carl, you are always bored. What do you want to do?” Susie said, also wiping the sweat onto the bottom of her shirt. “I am tired of coming up with ideas on what to do. You choose today.”

“Let’s head down to the sea wall. Lots of places to hide, and we can play hide and seek. I’ll even let you hide first.”

“I don’t know, my parents have always stressed that it was too dangerous down there to play.”

“Oh, Susie, you…

“By virtue of Creation, and still more the Incarnation,
nothing here below is profane for those who know how to see.”
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

I remember one hot, summer’s day as a child, laying in the long, tickly grass of the field behind my home, watching the clouds race. All around me I could hear the bees and insects buzzing away, drowning the distant traffic noise and the passing train. As I write I can smell again that particular perfume of hot earth, sweat and new mown grass, with a little tang of melting tar hovering as an afternote. I watched as a ladybird and a very strange caterpillar made their way to the tip of the burdock, neither bending the leaves, but moving lightly as if that was where they belonged.

I knew, even then, that I was lucky. I had been raised in a family where belief…

Ugly events happen in dark hours. Horrifying images assault my senses and threaten to overwhelm my mind. Disgust churns in my stomach, and I feel the blackness consuming me. Hope flees, depression rises, and I fear the future of humankind. Sleep is a hard-won escape.

Contrast rises with the sun, revealing a magical quality to early Sunday mornings. Bright red cardinals compete for fat sunflower seeds. Red-winged blackbirds, chickadees, goldfinches, and a downy woodpecker flit between the feeder and the evergreens. Squirrels chase each other through the yard, oblivious to the hawk floating in lazy circles in the crystal blue sky. It may not be Walden, but it is my slice of nature carved from a suburban landscape.  

A gentle mist rises in the chill air as the sun promises hope. A deep breath, a hot cup of coffee, and a soft breeze eases worry and clears the mind…

In the description of the the franklin, one of the pilgrims, I came across a term I’ve skimmed over in the past when I’ve encountered it. I didn’t really have much of an idea of what a knight of the shire was, but the notes of my edition of The Canterbury Tales told me that it was a member of parliament and that Chaucer had been one. So I did a bit of reading.

Two knights were chosen to represent each county at a parliament. They were supposed to be elected, but usually they were chosen by the county’s sheriff. As representatives of people in a certain location, rather than invited directly by the king, they were in the Commons. Parliaments were called by the king, usually when he needed to raise money by means of taxes. They could meet anywhere in the country, depending on where the king was…