The morning mist, the stranger and the
coincidence. Three phrases combined in one short piece of writing. 17/04/17
The morning mist was minding its own
business, sitting quietly and nigh-on motionless on the hills. Yet everyone
blamed the mist for the series of events that followed. The only crime that the
mist might have committed was to leave teardrops of moisture on the filigree
cobwebs and slender twigs of the hedgerows. And yet the mist was blamed.
Some said that if it wasn’t for the mist
the coach driver would have seen the stag.
Others said that if it wasn’t for the mist
the stag would have seen and heard the coach.
Either way the bus would have delivered the
children to school on time and the stag would have walked majestically away to
find his does.
As it was, however, as everyone said, the
mist had intervened, got in the way, caused the first steps in a string of
events.
A stranger to the area might have asked how
the mist could be to blame for the hunt failing to find its designated quarry.
The stranger might have enquired how the mist could be blamed for the twins
being lost to the hillside for a whole day. And everyone will be keen to
explain how the morning mist had caused the coach to swerve and become stuck in
the ditch, the children to clamber from the coach to the safety of the road, the
stag to change direction and head off away from its usual haunts, and how the
twins had decided to follow it and explore that narrow track leading down the
hillside away from the rest of the group.
The mist continued to mind its own
business, as it been doing for centuries, and gently lifted itself up and
drifted away.
The stag’s route and the twins track lead
them all to a small and ancient farm nestling in the shadow of the hill. The
stag moved cautiously past the farm house and into the small field beyond. He
did not disturb the grazing sheep. The twins, feeling hungry and thirsty, approached
the farm house door. It opened and they were welcomed in.
The coincidence of the stag and the coach
each being on the same road at the same time could not be blamed on the mist.
The morning mist returns to its resting
place upon the hill. A stag approaches, then cautiously with head erect,
crosses the road and follows the track upwards to his familiar haunt. The twins,
standing on their doorstep, wait eagerly for the coach to arrive and take them
to school. They have so much to tell.
He morning mist has no tales to tell, it minds its own business.
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