The Writer's Voice

The World's Favourite Literary Website



Rusty Broadspear

She sat at the top of the mountain overlooking the loch

A tartan shawl thrown over her shoulder, pinned with an antique broach.

The spinning wheel hummed to the sound of distant pipes

As she spun strange words of silver thread into a tapestry. 

A solitary ancient oak stood mighty and proud nearby,

Playing host to a regal golden eagle who watched the wheel whirl.

The warm morning air was quite still - she began to sing

With such clarity, her song butterflied all the way down to the loch.

A herd of deer stopped in their tracks, heads to one side in unison.

This was indeed an untouchable scene, so peaceful and serene.

Rabbits hopped and flipped through the heather, encircling her.

She appeared not to notice as her song reached heights never heard before.

The biggest rabbit was at her feet nuzzling her ankle,

The rest formed a circle around the wheel such an awesome spectacle.

She stroked the rabbit's ears and carried on spinning and singing.

High in the powder blue sky a jet had left a pure white contrail,

That was slowly breaking up and looking strangely like musical notes.

The eagle abruptly took to the air as if to investigate.

She stopped singing and the wheel slowly became still.

She stood, shielding her eyes from the Sun, watching the eagle

Until it disappeared from sight.

Rabbits danced around her legs, as she began to cry.

She was so very beautiful..

And I..

Was that eagle.

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.