Not at any price - Mag 156

The best view of maple trees was from the drawing room window, bleak and naked but still beautiful; her husband had planted them as a young man to flank the formal garden, though now the ornamental ponds were dry and crumbling, and the rosebushes long since gone wild. That morning she made her way laboriously up to Frederick's room that faced north, out towards the town. Her fingers rested momentarily on the moth-eaten rocking horse and it creaked back and forth a time or two, raising dust motes into the stream of weak sunlight. She did not have to wait long. Last night's rain had sunk the remains of the paving under deep puddles and the car skidded and slithered up the rutted driveway, the tracks of its previous fruitless visits still evident. The two men got out and picked their way carefully towards the steps. Celestine admitted them to the hall so they would have the most impressive view of her descent. The faded grandeur of the vast gently sweeping staircase allowed her to look down haughtily at the same time as disguising her increasing frailty. She greeted them graciously enough but offered no refreshment. 
"Lets get down to business shall we Mrs Everett," said the taller man, removing a sheaf of papers from the briefcase. "I have been authorised to make you a much improved offer for the property. We appreciate the deep emotional attachment of your family to this house and feel this represents a very generous recompense for your loss."
She perused the papers, her eyes alighting on the figure at the bottom. She sighed. It had been worth the extra six months in the draughty, damp wreck of a building; Annette had been a fool to settle at the first offer, now she was rid of this place and her retirement in the sun was guaranteed.

(Linking back to Magpie Tales 156 for other contributions. Image: Wind of History by Jacek Yerka)

Knees - Magpie Tale 155

It was raining as he came out of the supermarket, a broken downpipe spouted water onto the pavement and washed the cigarette butts into the gutter. The bag wasn't heavy but as he shifted it to his other hand one of the handles broke and its contents lurched awkwardly forcing him to bundle the whole lot into his arms as he set off for the bus stop. As he sat waiting his eyes travelled aimlessly into the window of the cafe behind. He saw a pair of knees under the table by the door and they seemed familiar, not that he was familiar with many pairs of knees, but the sturdy curve of the calf muscle was unmistakeable. She had been on the hockey team, so they were regularly on display at Thursday afternoon practices. He would never have dared to speak to her, she was just one of those unapproachable girls, but he would often watch from the staffroom window while he marked essays. Then he had been the only one around the afternoon of her accident. Mrs Williams had practically carried her up from the field with blood pouring from a nasty gash, a piece of broken glass in the mud by the goal she said. She had sat in the office looking ghostly and Mrs Williams had just grabbed him and told him to 'keep the pressure on' while she called an ambulance. He had crouched, for what seemed like an eternity, the sodden wad of paper towels warm in his hand as he pressed it against her thigh. As he watched now the couple shifted in their embrace. He didn't know the boy. She had cut her hair. And then she opened her eyes and caught sight of him. He looked away, pretending not to have really noticed. Mercifully the bus approached but as he got up the door opened and they emerged. She smiled at him, seemed genuinely pleased. 
"I thought it was you. I never got the chance to say thanks before you left. Look, it healed really well, hardly a scar." She lifted her skirt slightly to expose a faint white line on the tanned skin.
He didn't look down, but smiled and nodded vaguely. 
"My bus," he gestured as it pulled up. "Nice to see you Cassie."
"Bye then. Thanks again Mr Wilcox."
He did not look back as the bus pulled away. 

(Linking back to Magpie Tales 155 where you can read other contributions)

satsuma

the man across the aisle wore the tallit beneath his jacket
I noticed as he stood up and I saw the knotted fringe.
I hold Jewishness in a curious kind of awe
so many rules to govern the simplest things in life.
he munched hungrily on a tuna sandwich
the noise of his eating and snuffled breath reverberating in the 'quiet' coach
then peeled a satsuma and the sharp citrus tang tickled my nostrils.
I awoke from a fitful sleep as we reached Euston
to see him folded uncomfortably into the tiny space
his knees tucked up against the seat in front.
it seems there was no rule pertaining to that.

Corsica

Dear Agnes
Thank you so much for popping in to water the aspidistra for me this week, George was annoyed at himself for forgetting about it before we left. The trip has been quite an experience. It is so hot I am wilting, even in the shade. George bought a straw hat which looks utterly ridiculous but he seems to think it gives him a continental air. My new sandals have rubbed a blister on my little toe but I am hobbling on regardless. I do hope you've got that problem with the porch light sorted out.
With love,
Bernice

Isle of Man

Dear Agnes,
The crossing was fine, considering. I walked George three times round the deck to ward off the seasickness; I'm a seasoned traveller as you know but he did complain for quite a while and then we settled down in the restaurant to share a bacon butty. I must say it felt a bit like going abroad but once we got here it was just like England. I let George have kippers for breakfast yesterday morning and then wished I hadn't, his breath smelt something awful, so today we kept to cornflakes. 
Wishing you were here.
With love,
Bernice

Dear Agnes

Dear Agnes
We are in Torbay for the week, recommended by the doctor, for George to get some sea air. It has been so blustery and the poor palm trees on the front have been battered almost to death. My scarf blew off, you know, that lovely mauve silk one that mother gave me her last Christmas, and we chased it right down onto the sand, where it landed in the sea, fortunately the tide was incoming at the time. I hope Bernard is feeling better and not keeping you up at night like the last time.
With love
Bernice


(Returning to 100 Words in preparation for NaNoWriMo. Inspired by a postcard at work, just the name and the place it had come from and decided to do a series of 'postcard' messages.)

Letters

all we had
thoughts and desires entrusted to paper
consumed, sniffed, caressed, secreted
the words less important 
than the piece of paper
mundanities savoured with anticipation
'how was work'
'I thought of you'

now boxed and bound
quelled, extinguished
passion tempered by reality
but kept
so that in my dotage 
I might relive the way it felt
to be in love


(Linking back to The Poetry Jam where the theme is 'Letters'. Visit for more contributions.)