Sunny Afternoon, no Clouds.

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Duarte lent back in his deck chair, twisted off the top of a beer and settled back to watch the dust eddies twirl past. Presently he heard the schlep of Leandro’s footsteps.
“Afternoon, Duarte? All go is it?”
“It has been, had quite a rush on.”
Leandro judgementally surveyed the dusty stall of fruit and vegetables.
“You’ve still got half the produce left. You’ll never get rich like that.”
Duarte turned to study the shelves himself and after a little deliberation said, “No, I’ve sold half the stock, I’ve a beer in my hand and the sun’s shining, I’m a rich man.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

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Differing Perspectives

Strange Brew

Sometimes something will fall in my lap virtually fully formed, but such is its random nature, I have nowhere to put it. Hence I’ve added this category, “Strange Brew,” for anything that can’t find a home anywhere else.

Points of View

When my daughter was younger she accidentally bit her lip whilst we were having dinner. There followed what I considered an inordinate amount of fuss for something so minor, though it was probably only the right amount for a young girl, unaware as yet of the real pain and problems life can throw at you. Eventually she settled.

Later that evening I was drawing a Walrus. Why I can’t remember

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Warning
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Warning.

and I don’t think I’ve drawn one since. I made a mistake by drawing the line of the mouth before I had put in his tusks, so the final result looked like the tusk had pierced the bottom lip and gone right through it. This I realised was when accidentally biting your lip could be a major problem and the couple of verses below arrived.

If you have any suggestions for further verses on the theme, please send them in the comments box.

Differing Perspectives

Accidentally biting one’s lip
Is not worthy of excessive fuss,
Unless of course you happen to be
An immense, heavy-jowled Walrus,
And then for sure, it could prove to be,
Something entirely more serious.

I’m sure the shy partridge and his hen
Will forever fail to understand,
(When peering from within a dense bush,
At happy hunter crossing his land)
The old adage whereby the best bird,
Is the one hung bleeding from his hand.