The Writers Voice
The World's Favourite Literary Website




(The prompt was a painting of Cadbury Castle in Glastonbury.)

There is an early time of day when the first suggestion of light appears. The sky is no longer an empty void of black night sprinkled with the dust of stars. It is at this time of day when trees and mountains still sleep in the blackness as though unaware of the approaching morning, and on this side of the lake they appear as a setting that will frame the first light of day.

If a man is still not too old to remember, he may see things he saw as a child. For a few moments at least there may be glimpses of his boyhood days when gallantry and courage were plentiful, when it was still not too late too defend what he held most dear.

I saw a castle this morning. I did, I really did. I thought I never would again -- the light was bad and these old eyes could barely make out the spires and turrets, but it was there.

It gradually faded as the sky lightened, but for a moment or two it was as clear as it was in the days of Camelot. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful it was when I was young; it was more real than the house I lived in. More real even than my mother and my father.

The people there were tall and straight. The ladies were lovely and helpless and if it weren’t for the bravery of the men of Camelot they would be prey for the dragons, wicked magicians and witches that prowled the hostile woods outside. I knew every stone in those castle walls, every secret passage, every crypt. I could find my way blindfolded through the twists and turns from the dungeons to the towers. My own house was stranger to me than the castle of Camelot.

But I grew up, and as I did I lost sight of Camelot. It faded and the world I lived in took its place. A world of cities and roads, smoke and noise. In the place of castles there were factories and slums. There were six-lane highways to take the place of country lanes and forest paths. Camelot was forgotten.

Until this morning, just before the break of day I saw Camelot again. For just a moment, there in the first russet light of the sky ... and then it was gone.

It may not ever come again.

The End

Critique this work

Click on the book to leave a comment about this work

All Authors (hi-speed)    All Authors (dialup)    Children    Columnists    Contact    Drama    Fiction    Grammar    Guest Book    Home    Humour    Links    Narratives    Novels    Poems    Published Authors    Reviews    September 11    Short Stories    Teen Writings    Submission Guidelines

Be sure to have a look at our Discussion Forum today to see what's
happening on The World's Favourite Literary Website.