Running Wild

Writing recently has been craved, but life has meant it stays just that, craved and unfulfilled. There are too many grown up, real life tabs open for my tired brain to run wild and create. But Easter is coming and I have time off to recharge, recoup and write!

Recently took twenty minutes out in the car to write this piece of Flash Fiction for a competition with the Botanical Gardens – it didn’t qualify but I still liked the process and the concept behind it so here’s the little ditty for you to enjoy!

 



 

Running Wild

I watch her screech with delight, sun beams  radiating from her face as she traces the flight of a playful butterfly with her finger.  Her smile broad, her eyes are filled with the joy and excitement that I remember, the freedom, the innocence of running wild in the meadow behind my grandparents’ house.
The warm afternoon sunshine, the constant hum of busy bees, hopping from poppy to poppy, laden down with powdery yellow pollen.  The peace and relaxation that comes from watching an army of drones going about their business.
Lying barefoot, spread eagle in the cool grass , counting fluffy clouds and linking daisies; butterflies gently floating above our heads, flashes of red, brown and black, invaded now and then by a single white flutterer, and then chasing them home through a maze of red poppies, purple Devil’s Bit, with strokes of yellow Lady’s Bedstraw, gathering bouquets to bribe Nana in exchange for warm homemade apple pie made with the first fruits of the season collected by hand that morning when chores were done and dusted.
She sighs and turns to look at me.  ‘Can you play it again Granny?’
My heart sinks, she will never know the soothing hum of working bees, the majesty of a butterfly in flight, the smell that was the freedom in the meadow behind my grandparents house running wild; a TV screen can’t give her that.  

We robbed her of it.

 


 

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