Eighth April Blog. 17-4-15?
The summer green of woodland trees,
The meadows edge, aglow
With bounteous grass and sweet, sweet flowers,
And butterflies flitting to and fro.
Branches full of song birds
And insects in the bough,
A righteous feast abounding.
I wish I walked there now.
The rustling of summer leaves
Before the autumn comes,
Before the joy of harvest times,
Before the purple plums.
Rejoice then in this greenery
That sets the emerald copse
And turns it into green, green fire,
Like summer-ripening hops.
To bask within its shady nook,
Beneath the spreading arms.
To laze amongst the sunny beams,
And dream of all its charms.
Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. April. 2015.
“””The valley was ablaze with sunny dells, soft green grass where cattle grazed in woodland glades and meadows full of sweet nourishment and wild flowers. On the surface, idyllic. But there are dark places, in pockets here and there. No telling what lies within the shady woodland, or the dank patch beneath the stream’s overhanging bank. If you looked close enough between the forest’s fallen trunks, who can tell what rotting stench hides a dead thing.
In the darkest grove, where trees grow so close, where sunbeams never reach the forest floor, who can tell how many bodies have found a resting place where only luck might bring their rotting bones to light. An easy harbour for the residue of a serial killer’s remains?”””
So easy to take what looks like an innocent picture and turn it into something dark and sinister. I do not often write in this kind of genre but, now and again, I think it is a good thing to take the mind into darker realms, to explore the blackest fears of mans’ inhumanity. Just for a change. Unless, of course, you already write in that genre. Then It would be wise to take a lighter touch.
Go on, throw caution to the wind. Give it a go, see what comes out of it, just as an exercise in creating atmosphere.
Be happy, good people.