Monday 21st Flash Prompts

Of skies and scarecrows, haystacks hares and pheasants

Slithering

And the widening river's presence

A glove, unnoticed, on a floor

And residents from raw estates

Dark suit, white collar

Electric mixers, toasters, washers, driers

The curative qualities of nothingness

From the window, a strip of an allotment

A Fiddler in the Street, a Man With a Guitar

His clothes hang on the back of the door

Home is so sad.

He liked a lot of gravy

I sometimes walk my alligator, around the park, it's always empty

This is how it ends, sliding quietly

The Cemetery Song

There is never, quite, nothing

The words escape the book, fly like bees

Devoutly Drenched and Thinking of Jesus

I was late getting away