Feral onions getting ready to bloom among the raspberries and red-twig dogwood. Photo by Jeannine.
Rose and Pee Wee enjoying a peaceful pasture lunch. I need to get rid of those weeds, though!
This is where I present my daily microfiction stories, mostly based on the past week’s prompts from The Fiction Dealer. By posting my humble tales - the good, bad, silly, and indifferent - I hope to inspire others to allow their creativity to come out and play.
The old shovel was rusty, with tape around the grip, but it was the perfect height for his sturdy frame, the handle fitted to his hand.
He’d used it to plant trees and dig ditches. He’d used it to bury his poor old dog. And now he was using it to bury his loving wife.
She’d but one request: To be buried in her beloved forest, resting forever beneath the duff.
He’s willed the shovel to his only son. He, too, has one solitary last request - when his own time comes, he will join his wife beneath the forest floor.
Oh, jakes [1] and jennies [2] list’ to me And I'll tell you the story of Great King Tom, The grandest gobbler (3) of all the turkeys. His cluck and purr (4) kept all hen birds calm, And his “Putt putt putt” (5) they’d always heed. His shroud (6), beard (7), and wattle (8) hung ponderous, And none could resist his engorged, red carbuncles (9). One day a young fool entered the wood, challenging, But was handily beaten ‘fore he could gobble (10) or strut (11): "My name is Tom the Turkey, King of Kings: Look on my quills, ye foul fowl, and despair!" Always dream on and remember the wondrous fan (12) Of Great Grandfather Tom, of whom we sing, For we’ll never see his like again.
*Very, VERY loosely based on "Ozymandias," by Percy Bysshe Shelley
A jake is a young male turkey.
A jenny is a young female turkey.
A gobbler (aka tom) is an adult male turkey.
Clucking and purring sounds are signs of contented turkeys.
“Putt" is turkey-ish for “Danger, Will Robinson!”
The shroud is the flap of skin hanging over a tom turkey’s beak, a sign of virility.
The beard is the long tuft of feathers hanging down from the tom’s chest - the longer it is, the more irresistible he is to hens. Some toms have two!
A wattle on a turkey is the same as you find on humans: Loose, floppy skin under the chin. Turkeys think they’re an asset.
Male carbuncles are bumpy growths on a turkey’s head - a tom's will become engorged with blood and turn red, white, or blue during mating season - again, the hens find this attribute to be very attractive.
“Gobble?” Well we all know that one. 😉
Strutting is the dance tom turkeys do to attract the hens.
The stalker crept towards his unsuspecting prey, closer and closer. Carefully, slowly, creepy-crawly, almost there... Tensing his muscles, ready to spring, while I watched in horrified fascination. A sudden leap towards his prize, and then it was all over. The jumping spider crept to the corner to eat his juicy fly in peace, while I counted my lucky stars that he was only a quarter of an inch tall!
Mom had chosen me to take care of her final wishes, but there wasn't really much for me to do, other than follow directions. The paperwork was already properly filed with the town, Old Joe was ready with his excavator, Mr. Cole had chosen a fine oak sapling to plant on her grave. She’d taken care of everything, and her friends were happy to grant her one last boon.
I added one final touch, ordering a slab of granite; I asked another of Mom’s old friends, Hilary, to carve Mom’s instructions into it. It seemed fitting:
"The deep brown earth will be my morgue.
Wrap me up in a cotton shroud,
And bury me in the ground.
My body will become part of Nature,
As the oak roots become my crypt.
Weep not for me, for I’ll remain,
Speaking through rustling leaves."
It was so hard to say goodbye, but she was right about the oak tree. As the years passed, it whispered comfort to the many who’d loved her.
Oh, these are lovely.
Loved The Shovel. And loved watching the donkeys eat lunch :)