The tracery of thought.

It was here,  long ago, when I was young and Daisy and me lived in this house. A lifetime ago. Siblings we so close and warm against the embers of that same fire in the sitting room.  No longer is it there against the wall as then. It flickering flames just memory.

Blue ribbons and frilly dresses for Daisy and me but Eric a wooden soldier for him to think of father. He played with it until all paint peeled off. I pass on trough the rooms searching.

Tunes played by Mother filled the air with sounds. The piano has gone but I can still hear it faintly ,dancing in my head. Happy we that summer then all fell apart when dear father was called to service of war. September 3rd 1914. So long ago.

It was here ,in this little window across to the park railings that once held the roses from the pond. The ducks all gone. Such memories of sad longing as Daisy fell ill, with worry no doubt.

Mother had us making socks for the soldiers in this little kitchen, all wool and knitting needles. No real laughter but we tried to be normal. Daisy against the fire huddled in blankets but still smiling through tears.


I recall the news when the few returned all broken and bent from the front. Years of waiting now; the telegram. We wept so long and weary. Father was killed one hour before they called an end to war. No one knew where he lay. Mother fell ill and soon we ,Daisy and me stood in the snow as they lowered dear mother down in the wet sucking earth of our church yard, just a short walk from this door. I stand colder than ice near that church door no reason just had too it seems. I have no way of knowing why it keeps happening to me. I am not part of those behind the curtain now. The light is drawing me nearer. It happening again I will be leaving i feel it all through me, im not wanted.

TACA-1906-family.jpg I came back, I think only to find father, lost as he is. Mud fields have no sign of him they told us all.  I must go. For it is cold in the  grave I lay within without us all together again.


Short story this time.

Best wishes Sir Kevin.

Copyright Kevin Parr Bt 2017 for today 24th August 2019


2 thoughts on “The tracery of thought.”

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