The other world
I don’t know about you but I often happen across random ‘things’ that are out of context and this week’s photo prompt is no exception.
This beautifully crafted gate and stile just sat in the middle of the field all on their lonesome. They weren’t keeping anything in or protecting an area from things without. So why were they there?
Your mission, should you choose to accept it is to tell us why they are there and what can be found beyond them.
Please feel free to leave your first line, paragraph or even title in the comments below. You could even craft a complete piece of flash fiction for this year’s Hysteria Writing Competition.
And here’s my effort .. please be kind 🙂
History shows us time and again never to go through a door or entrance that’s not meant for you. But the gate looked so inviting and the carving seemed harmless enough that Petra ignored the tales her grandmother had told and jumped up on the bars to look over. The extra foot of height let her look further up the valley than ever before. There was nothing there but the meadows she was in. Disappointed she hopped over the top and landed lightly on the other side.
“It’s ok” she called back to her friends, turning back to egg them on too.
But they weren’t there, there was just the meadow …
Gated fence with step in field
A place to view and think ones thoughtsurrounded by greenery, chirping of birds, and woodland glade in the distance. One could say a retreat away from suburbia. A passing place for ramblers.
I love the idea of creating passing places for ramblers Christine – what a fabulous image 🙂
My dear, when I said, ‘That field needs a gate,
And a stile would be nice’,
Did you hear, ‘We need an aesthetic Estate,
No matter the price’??
And would you pay any price???
It is hard to find a dry stone Waller these days.
LOL xx
There was a crooked man who walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked lamb upon a crooked stile.
He took the little lamb back to his crooked house
And they all lived together with the crooked cat and mouse.
What a lovely retelling of the nursery rhyme Maire.
The Murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe.
Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
So true Ralph, and who is that you might murder and be haunted by 🙂