Comments Posted By Sarah Kiddle
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They were lost. Even Rachel, clutching the soaking, disintegrating map, had to admit that. Her fancy waterproof coat, natty purple hiking boots – even her compass, hadn’t helped. And now the fog was returning.
» Posted By Sarah Kiddle On 10.26.2017 @ 6:38 am
The chickens were bunched together as though they did not know any other way to be. The cold air on their poor plucked and pimpled flesh seemed to frighten them.
» Posted By Sarah Kiddle On 10.17.2017 @ 6:18 am
The hidden inner workings that make a star. The pruning of the rose so that it blooms just so; the removal of the greenfly, the blackspot, the weeds. The moving of the sunflowers to another part of the garden where they can soar.
» Posted By Sarah Kiddle On 10.10.2017 @ 7:48 am
You’re wanted. Come on in.
Oh … you can’t make it. Why? Couldn’t you rearrange? Surely someone else would help you out. No? Well, come along afterwards.
Oh, of course. I understand.
» Posted By Sarah Kiddle On 10.04.2017 @ 12:06 am
He ran the flannel over his face,
quickly at first, doing the job,
Then again, slowly.
He felt the soft-rough fibres comfort his pores with their heat and their homely touch.
» Posted By Sarah Kiddle On 09.06.2017 @ 7:43 am
Some are chosen; most are not.
They stand, sullen-eyed and
by their shoulders’ load.
» Posted By Sarah Kiddle On 08.29.2017 @ 3:53 am
It blasts with a suddenness somehow unexpected
It forces you back
While the bullet moves onwards, faster, out
» Posted By Sarah Kiddle On 08.22.2017 @ 1:19 pm
If I knew the answers, I would be happier. At least that’s the way it seems. OK, maybe not happier. The answers might not be what I want. But I’d have certainty. Not the constant what-ifs. I guess wanting the definitive answer only works for hindsight; no one really wants to know the future. And back when the answers you’d wish you’d known would have been useful to you, they’d have been the future too. So it comes down to free will. Douglas Adams said it best: 42.
» Posted By Sarah Kiddle On 01.30.2017 @ 3:14 pm
He slides down the muddy bank, not noticing the rents pulled in his jacket by sly brambles and malicious roots. His breath comes fast in his throat; soil tumbles down onto the body lying prone at the bottom of the ditch, making him think graves. Although he’s moving fast, this thought makes time slow and the tumble of memories makes him dizzy. Why did he goad her to do that stunt?
» Posted By Sarah Kiddle On 01.29.2017 @ 12:10 pm
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Broken. Not irrevocably, maybe, but pretty badly all the same. It will take time – who knows how long? – and perhaps expert help to fix. And you can’t quite pinpoint when the damage occurred, exactly what shape the fracture is. Is it just one simple crack, or will your heart shatter if anyone touches it again?
» Posted By Sarah Kiddle On 10.14.2016 @ 6:46 am