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igenlodeI picked a lot of elderberries; last weekend they weren't really ready, but after a week's heatwave they were starting to go over. (At the moment I'm only getting about four hours' sleep a night, because the temperature in my bedroom is still over eighty degrees at four o'clock in the morning...)
Elderberry pie! (And, um, home-made yoghurt in its grainy state.)
I went up to the common to try to find the original trees on the golf course from which I'd picked the flowers for my weirdly unsatisfactory elderflower cordial. I couldn't do as much exploring as I would have liked, since golf is now actively being played again (and there were large signs saying No Admittance), but I thought I had identified the second of the two trees I harvested blossoms from... only it was covered in rowan berries!
Could I really have made such a stupid mistake? It would explain why those trees at the top of the hill were in flower so much in advance of the others -- and the leaves and flowers are terribly similar, if you're not expecting them.
Elder:
Rowan:
No wonder it didn't taste the way I was expecting...
I still haven't done any more typing/proofreading/editing on Arctic Raoul, but I did at least type up about half of "The Writing on the Wall" yesterday. Angst galore. (If and when this gets published, I shall have spent about three months on a single one-shot, which will receive a couple of reviews -- although I can't claim to have spent the excess of time on making it better, since most of it was spent either in not doing it at all, or in struggling to do anything!)
More unsolicited rewrites. Why is it so much easier to rewrite someone else's work than my own? (Well, that's one reason why people employ outside editors.)
The bar was dimly lit, but I was tired and wet enough not to care. I thrust back the hood of my jacket with a sigh, brushing away drips of rain-water from the damp curls that clung about my face, and pulled out a wooden stool from the neat row lined up in front of the counter. Even for a few minutes it was good to sit down.
From somewhere in the corner a jukebox was playing softly, some old country tune I half recognised, but the place was almost empty of customers, and the bar tender, an old man in his sixties, was busy polishing glasses with the air of one who hadn't served a drink in a while. He glanced up as I took my seat, assessing me with shrewd blue eyes. "What's your poison, Miss?"
"Rum, no ice." I pulled out a ten and five dollar bill and laid them down on the counter, and he nodded, pulling out a glass and beginning to half-fill it with liquor.
"Got a name?" he asked after a moment, sliding the drink across towards me.
I hesitated a moment. But it had been a rough night, and the old guy was just being friendly. "Sofia."
He grinned, and for the first time I caught sight of the tattoo on his left arm, a trident etched into weatherbeaten skin. "They call me Neptune."
I raised an eyebrow, and lifted my glass. "Well, cheers to you, Neptune."
The burn of the rum was good as it went down. I propped my elbows on the counter top, nursing my drink, and studied him between sips as he went back to polishing glasses. He seemed in good shape for a man that age, lean and muscled as if he still worked out, with an outdoors tan, but the crinkles round his eyes came from smiling and his face seemed kind.
"You don't mind if I get something off my chest for a bit?" I asked on impulse, feeling a little foolish.
He gave me the weary look of one accustomed to that question on a daily basis. "If it's about how your boyfriend dumped you, forget it."
I shook my head. "No, it's not that. It's... just... um..."
Neptune looked at me more closely. I hadn't been wrong about the kindness. "Well, what is it?"
But it was no good. I tossed off the rest of my drink, sighed, and set down the glass with a sharp rap. "Forget it. You wouldn't believe me anyway."
Elderberry pie! (And, um, home-made yoghurt in its grainy state.)
I went up to the common to try to find the original trees on the golf course from which I'd picked the flowers for my weirdly unsatisfactory elderflower cordial. I couldn't do as much exploring as I would have liked, since golf is now actively being played again (and there were large signs saying No Admittance), but I thought I had identified the second of the two trees I harvested blossoms from... only it was covered in rowan berries!
Could I really have made such a stupid mistake? It would explain why those trees at the top of the hill were in flower so much in advance of the others -- and the leaves and flowers are terribly similar, if you're not expecting them.
Elder:
Rowan:
No wonder it didn't taste the way I was expecting...
I still haven't done any more typing/proofreading/editing on Arctic Raoul, but I did at least type up about half of "The Writing on the Wall" yesterday. Angst galore. (If and when this gets published, I shall have spent about three months on a single one-shot, which will receive a couple of reviews -- although I can't claim to have spent the excess of time on making it better, since most of it was spent either in not doing it at all, or in struggling to do anything!)
More unsolicited rewrites. Why is it so much easier to rewrite someone else's work than my own? (Well, that's one reason why people employ outside editors.)
I released a long, tired sigh as I stepped into the dimly lit bar. Pulling down my jacket's hood, I slowly looked around as I gently wrang out the excess rainwater from my hair.
The place was a decent size, with several booths on my left, and a small gaming area with a jukebox softly playing some country music on my right. Ahead, was the bar itself that was lined with wooden stools neatly pushed in.
"What's your poison?" The bar tender asked as I took a seat before him. The man seemed to be a strange combination of contradictions, he was old, possibly in his early to mid sixties, with a kind face, piercing dark blue eyes, and tan, weatherbeaten skin. However, he also had a lean, muscled build that would put any bodybuilder to shame. A quick glance at his left arm revealed a trident etched into his skin.
"Rum, no ice," I said, pulling out a ten and five dollar bill and placing it on the table. The man knocked twice, nodded, and began to make my drink.
"Got a name?" he asked, pulling out a glass and filling it with my requested drink.
"Sofia," I say, resting my arms on the bar top.
"Michael, but most people call me Neptune," he said, a soft smirk tugging against his lips as he slid the half filled glass towards me.
"Isn't that a little contradicting?" I deftly caught the glass in my left hand, while giving him a soft smile. "Your name I mean."
"Whadaya mean? he asked, raising a grey eyebrow in confusion.
"Well, your real name is biblical in origin, from the archangel Michael. While your nickname is of a Roman pagan god of the sea, don't you find that a little contradicting?" The man simply stared at me with a blank expression, blink a few times, and gently chuckled as he wiped the counter.
"You know, I think I'm going to like you, kid," Neptune chuckled while gently shaking his head in amusement. "But I never really cared to be honest. Is it contradicting? Yeah, do I really care? Hell no." I smiled as I took a sip of my drink.
For a while the two of us fell into a bit of an awkward silence, me simply sitting there occasionally sipping my drink, while Neptune finished cleaning the last of the glasses on his left.
"You don't mind if I get something off my chest for a bit?" I asked, a little nervous to his oncoming response. Neptune gave me an annoyed gaze, as if he was asked that very question on a daily basis.
"If it's about how your boyfriend dumped you, forget it."
I shook my head as a snort of laughter pierced the air. "No, it's not that. It's… just… um…"
"What is it?"He asked, raising an eyebrow, urging me to continue. I released an exhausted sigh as I stared down at my now empty glass.
"Forget it, you wouldn't believe me anyways."
The bar was dimly lit, but I was tired and wet enough not to care. I thrust back the hood of my jacket with a sigh, brushing away drips of rain-water from the damp curls that clung about my face, and pulled out a wooden stool from the neat row lined up in front of the counter. Even for a few minutes it was good to sit down.
From somewhere in the corner a jukebox was playing softly, some old country tune I half recognised, but the place was almost empty of customers, and the bar tender, an old man in his sixties, was busy polishing glasses with the air of one who hadn't served a drink in a while. He glanced up as I took my seat, assessing me with shrewd blue eyes. "What's your poison, Miss?"
"Rum, no ice." I pulled out a ten and five dollar bill and laid them down on the counter, and he nodded, pulling out a glass and beginning to half-fill it with liquor.
"Got a name?" he asked after a moment, sliding the drink across towards me.
I hesitated a moment. But it had been a rough night, and the old guy was just being friendly. "Sofia."
He grinned, and for the first time I caught sight of the tattoo on his left arm, a trident etched into weatherbeaten skin. "They call me Neptune."
I raised an eyebrow, and lifted my glass. "Well, cheers to you, Neptune."
The burn of the rum was good as it went down. I propped my elbows on the counter top, nursing my drink, and studied him between sips as he went back to polishing glasses. He seemed in good shape for a man that age, lean and muscled as if he still worked out, with an outdoors tan, but the crinkles round his eyes came from smiling and his face seemed kind.
"You don't mind if I get something off my chest for a bit?" I asked on impulse, feeling a little foolish.
He gave me the weary look of one accustomed to that question on a daily basis. "If it's about how your boyfriend dumped you, forget it."
I shook my head. "No, it's not that. It's... just... um..."
Neptune looked at me more closely. I hadn't been wrong about the kindness. "Well, what is it?"
But it was no good. I tossed off the rest of my drink, sighed, and set down the glass with a sharp rap. "Forget it. You wouldn't believe me anyway."
no subject
Date: 2020-08-13 09:28 am (UTC)I find bits I prefer in both versions.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-28 10:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-07-26 12:18 am (UTC)I guess what I like most about this is how the description of the place simply 'happens' naturally.
Mei