A perfect circle of white, Hangs in the sky tonight, Casting a luminous light. Clouds pass by the front of the moon, moving slow, Changing the moon's light to an ethereal glow. Just as quickly the clouds are gone. Perhaps, a moment of realisation, the moon can never be outshone.

The sound of the sea, a thunderous roar, as it crashes and breaks upon the shore. The wave has travelled from afar, tossing and turning, gathering speed. Unaware it will be the cause of a feeding frenzy. Sat on the beach, enjoying the sun, children playing, having fun. Above all other noise, a loud squawking can be heard, this, the sound of the Seagull bird. High in numbers, flying high in the sky, they hover, occasionally they swoop and dive, excited for the crest of the wave, with each rise. Within the foam, a treasure is found, small fishes are the feast of kings for this scavenging bird. I sit on the beach enjoying the sun, and all around a feeding frenzy has begun. The gulls feast on their fishes and children feast on ice cream, meals fit for kings and queens.

Where do the birds go at night? When the noise ceases and silence surrounds. When there are no starlings or sparrows flying in the sky or to be seen upon the ground. Where do the birds go at night? When it is perfectly quiet where can all the birds be? Are they asleep in bushes close to the ground or nestling high up in a tree? Where do the birds go at night? When darkness descends and evening arrives, where do all the birds hide? Are the birds playing hide n seek, having a bit of fun, as they wait for the first glimpse of the morning sun? Where do the birds go at night? Do you ever wonder if they have a secret life? By day they are happy, singing a cheerful tune. By night they are more reflective singing Clare De Lune. Where do the birds go at night? Is it a puzzle that keeps you awake? Do you toss and turn, until the birds return at daybreak? Where do the birds go at night? When morning breaks and the birds begin to sing. Every morning seems like the first day of spring. Waiting for the first sight of birds gathered upon your fence. Full of hope for the day to commence.

Dear Table A woman full of love comes home. On the large dining room table, she places her bag, a book and her house keys. She adds the warmth of the sun, the sound of the sea, the wind whistling through the trees and the voice of her dad saying “Hi, it’s smee!” She takes off her shoe and empties sand and seaweed, stubbed toes, marmite sandwiches and a surf board. From her jacket pockets she adds a child’s dummy, a pocket hanky a Frog and Toad. On the table she places a wine glass, very gently and a bottle of fine red. A pizza of Jamaican Jerk chicken to keep her well-fed. The table is large and there is room for more. She scoops a child’s drum from the floor and places it on top too. The scrapping sound of a child’s chair. Also gets placed on top with such love and care. Looking around for more items to include she adds memories of her family young and old. Stories which have yet to be written or indeed told. An image of a young girl playing roly poly down the hill. A Queens Jubilee commemorative five-pound bill. The table bears the weight well, it stands tall and upright. The woman she will sleep well tonight. Thank you, table, for always being there. For the load you carry, your unwavering support. Throughout the years you have witnessed much joy and tears.

Sunny days You came again! You are a balm to our soul. In an otherwise world of grey, You bring colour. In a world of coldness, You bring warmth. In a world of silence, You bring sounds. In a world of loneliness, You bring togetherness. In a world of uncertainty, You bring peacefulness. When the pandemic is at bay. You will bring beauty to another day. Thank you for staying around!

Winter trees, standing there. With your canopy of leaves stripped, your branches bare. You remind me of Samson when Delilah stripped him of his hair. Does your strength diminish in the same way? When the sun retires and blue skies have turned to grey. Your trunk and branches in summer, used as a hiding place for small feathered birds; And squirrels that are grey and furred. Your branches once bearing fruits of gold. Stripped bare, now you look solitary and old. You have a look of elegance whilst waiting for the earth to warm. When you will once again become mother nature’s store, birds and bees visiting in their flocks and swarms. A miracle of nature. A glorious portraiture.

Hi, my name is Suzy the Squirrel. And by nature, I should be a solitary soul. However, I live in woodlands surrounding the River Louse And one of my best friends is Mr. Mouse I like to forage at the hour when the day turns to night. When the Moon is in the sky and shining so bright. I am kept company by another friend, the Owl. Owl deters nearby predators by the use of his talons and howl. I am rusty red in colour and with a large bushy tail. Which I use as a broom when I am preparing my countrystore for a sale. When I forage, I collect items discarded by humans. When they visit the countryside, I sell the items back to them, it’s a simple case of re-distribution. You can read about me in the Tales of Mr. Mouse Mr. Mouse who lives with his wife and eleven children in a small house. A house that sits in the woodlands surrounding the River Louse. Mr. Mouse has many friends, including me. I am Suzy the Squirrel, and I live mainly alone in the sanctuary of my large Oak tree.

At the end of a working day; To refresh my mind I walk and watch nature at play. Water rippling, leaves rustling bring calm and tranquillity. A balm to my mind and mobility. A beautiful evening for a walk. Listening to the sounds of the birds in the trees. Puts my mind and body at ease. Walking, watching children feeding ducks on the pond. To me is like a fairy waving her magic wand. The end of September, we are lucky, there is still some warmth at the end of the day. No need for a coat as I catch the last of the days rays. Early evening walking leaves my mind in a happy haze.

We’re going on a duck hunt; just granny and me! We’re going on a duck hunt, let me tell you what we see. We are going to the river, with a bag of stale bread. Fighting off seagulls and pigeons as they hover above our heads. We will pass by the riverbanks where grasses and trees grow tall. Watching and listening to the river as it tumbles, rolls, and roars. We will see flowers of different colours. White daisies, yellow buttercups, blue cornflowers, covering the parklands in a dazzling display. My Granny says seeing the kaleidoscope of colours makes her day! We will pass by rabbits hopping about their homes of grassy mounds. Every now and then pricking up their ears; listening to every sound. We will pass by geese gathered in a gaggle. Big bottomed geese walking with a waggle. We will pass by swans gliding with their necks held high. Several young cygnets tucked in and swimming by their mums side. We will pass all these wonders of nature as we make our way to the ducks. Listening for every quack and cluck. We reach our goal with a bag of bread in-hand. Throwing the bread to the ducks who say thank you with a “quack” and a “cluck.” Before you know it, the swans are there too. Then the seagulls and pigeons “shoosh, go away you!” Ducks are the best of the lot you see. They make me laugh; I think they are funny. No particular reason but my granny says, “It is because I am only three.” We’re going on a duck hunt; just granny and me! We’re going on a duck hunt, to feed the ducks their tea.

Do you ever wonder, what why, who you see? When you cast your eyes heavenly. By night when the stars shine bright. Like fires burning in the skies. Do you ever wonder who you see twinkling before your eyes? Do you ever wonder who has joined you that night? Is it a popstar, politician, inventor or wisely sage? From a time so long ago, you cannot remember their exact age. Clinging to their last song, speech or invention. Letting go, never their desire or intention. Or is it a lost loved one? Letting you know they are near. Listen very closely what do you hear? “Hi, its smee, I know you think of me all the time, I just wanted you to know, I did not go far, I am right here!” Taking in the stars is a game we all love to play. Breath in Breath out Take a minute Take Five Take a moment to feel alive Connection made now you can rest. Relieve the pressure from your chest. Sleep tight without longing. Knowing you can see your loved one again tomorrow. Brings a small amount of peace and joy, helps to dim the sorrow.

As I walk a meandering path Through woodlands thoughts running through my mind. This is my time, to reflect, think, smile even laugh. Halfway to home, down a small trail; I spy a circle of stones. They appear to be hidden beneath a pile of leaves, under a big oak tree. And I begin to wonder is this where a family of fairies live. By day, you may not see them whilst you are walking. The fairies keep themselves hidden from sight and you would not hear them talking. But when the sun goes in and the moon comes out; myth has it the fairies play by the pale moon light. I waited patiently until light turned to darkness. I was rewarded as I witnessed the most spectacular show; hidden from view, the fairies did not know. Three fairies in total, all in sparkly fairy dresses; their hair fell down their backs in long, tumbling tresses. The fairies had glorious wings, painted the brightest of colours. I heard them say their names were Darling, Petunia and Honour. The eldest one I heard call Darling she had a beautiful voice; you should have heard her sing. The fairy called Petunia was the pale faced beauty of Exetonia. Finally, Honour appeared a tomboy with short hair and plenty of dirt on her. All three of them were very tiny as one would expect. Can you imagine if I told you they were no bigger than a middle finger? I watched as they sat in a circle, legs crossed, whispering and giggling. Then suddenly they clapped their heels, flapped their wings, and took off to the skies. The three fairies flew so high, suddenly to my eye they looked like three dragonflies. They glided and swooped, they dived and hovered. They flew under branches and over treetops. They raced each other, 1,2,3 go. Petunia I think was the youngest and she was quite slow. The fairies continued flying until the moon went in and the sun came out. Then they flew down to the ground and went back to their home. Under the leaves, in a circle of stone. Now when I am out walking. And a dragonfly flutters by. I wonder if this is really Darling, Petunia or Honour. I wonder if the fairies, knew that I had spied upon their manor. The next time a dragonfly passes you by just give a little wave and say hi – you never know it may be one of the fairies or indeed all three.

On the surface of the moon, high in the sky and far out of sight. Lives a creature, in a crater, half in shade, half in light. The creature has a snarky grin. And that is where this story begins. People find it hard to describe the creature they see. “he’s tall” some say, others “he only comes up to my knee”. Some say he has two legs; some say he has four. Some say he has six legs; some say he has more. Some say he has two eyes, a nose, two ears and a mouth. Some say he is charming; others say his charms are leaving him, heading south. But one thing that is known for sure. Is the creature that lives on the moon is a frightful old boor. He has no words, no small talk, chitter chatter. He doesn’t pass the time with a friendly natter. He slinks and slithers. He glides and shivers. A snake, I hear you cry but “no!” This creature is not a snake, he's neither fast nor slow. He lives on his own and seeks no crowds. He shouts at you “turn the music down”, if it gets too loud. Some say he's a dinosaur, one hundred years old. Some say he's a young un with a heart of gold. The creature that lives on the moon, is happy being one of a kind. He's happy being himself and has no desire to be refined. The creature that lives on the moon, is happy in his own skin. Makes no difference to the creature, if he has no known kith or kin. The creature that lives on the moon, makes no judgement of what you wear. Makes no judgement of how you choose to style your hair. That is why the creature that lives on the moon is welcome to attend his neighbour’s parties. That is why they welcome him with arms open wide, wholeheartedly. The creature that lives on the moon is pleasant to them all, but he has no desire to be the star of the ball. By preference, the creature sits alone in his chair, he does not speak, he does not stare. He just enjoys the moment, living without a care. He has no shackles; he is not bound. The creature is content living life in his crater, he has no wish to be found. The view he has before him of the planet below is a glorious sight. A sight that waxes and wanes with the season, sometimes he is in the shade, sometimes eclipsed by the light. A sight he adores and is grateful for. A sight he is happy to be considered a “frightful old boor”. When you see the moon in the sky at night. Look for the creature, who lives in a crater, sometimes in shade and sometimes in light. Give him a wave and say a prayer thankful he continues watching over the planet below from sunset to sunrise; from the time your head hits the pillow until the time you open your eyes. Sweet dreams. ©Jacqueline Mead 2020

The clock stood, tall and proud. Its tick-tock, very loud. The clock stood, long and thin. Its swinging pendulum pointed like a pin. The young boy came every day. Stood on the stool, turned the key. The boy climbed down from the stool. Then left for the day to attend his school. The clock stood tall and proud. Its tick-tock very loud. The clock stood long and thin. The swinging pendulum pointed like a pin. The hour approaching number four. The boy ran through the front door. Taking his place cross-legged on the floor. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. Sounded the old Grandfather clock. Soon the clock would begin to chime Counting to four in a rhyme. The boy sat hypnotised watching the pendulum swing. The boy waited and when it was time, he would start to sing. 1 o'clock, 2 o'clock, 3 o'clock, 4. Someones knocking on the door. It was all over in a beat. The boy lept from the floor to his feet. Over for another day, the boy had gone on his way. The clock stood, tall and proud. Its tick-tock, very loud. The clock stood, long and thin. Its swinging pendulum pointed like a pin

Ten little ducklings, furry and new. Huddling together shielding themselves from your view. Mother Hen protectively stands nearby. Watching you closely with her eagle eye. Father the Drake full of colour stands a little to the side, but don't be fooled be certain; he's a fighter not a lover. If you threaten he will chase you away. Survival the name of the game. On our walk down by the canal a family, mother, father and ten ducklings so sweet

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