STORY OF THE MONTH

NOTE: “The Story Of The Month” changes every month OR bi-monthly and might also have been featured in my collection DOWN INDEPENDENCE BOULEVARD published by MiddleRoad Publishers in 2017 and available on Amazon, or might be an Extract from my two novels RACING WITH THE RAIN and JUNTA.

FOR MORE WRITING LIKE THIS CHECK OUT

Down Independence Boulevard: and other stories
by Ken Puddicombe
Link: http://a.co/4Fy5oBg

 

2017

December –The Touch Of Peace

2018

Jan – The Interview

Feb – The Underground [2nd Prize Polaris Magazine]

Mar –Welcome  To Punta Canada

APR – Return Of The Prodigal [from Down Independence Boulevard and Other Stories]

MAY- No Thank You

JUNE – The Shoplifter

JULY/ AUGUST: The Last Straw [from Down Independence Boulevard and Other Stories]

SEPTEMBER/ OCTOBER: Relics In The Attic [from Down Independence Boulevard and Other Stories]

NOVEMBER: The Day Queen Victoria Lost Her head [Published in The Caribbean Writer]

DECEMBER— The Touch Of Peace

2019

JANUARY/ FEBRUARY –The Effect Of Light Rays On The Milky Way and Minor Constellations

MARCH: Memory

APRIL/MAY: The Other Side

JULY/AUG: Love Through The Ages

OCT: Don’t Cry For Me

2020

MAR: Going Back

 

 

GOING BACK ©

 

The long slanting rays
Of the sun bounced off the silver skin
Of the 747, pushing an ever-reluctant area
Of luminosity.

airplane wing towards clouds

Photo by Sheila on Pexels.com

A dirt road ran parallel to a wide river. The road
Just a narrow swath — emptiness carved
Out of the woods.

The bright glow raced
Ahead of the plane, swerved
As it hit a crude wooden bridge, bounced
Off a cluster of rooftops, disappeared again as it passed
Over a stretch of trees.

The luminous disk hesitated, crept slowly into the nearby river,
Its mutable bulk undulating with the waves. After entering
It became a fiery omelette, ever
Changing bands of orange,
Pink and maroon
Surrounding it.

nature sky sunset the mountains

Photo by NO NAME on Pexels.com

Going back. Could one ever really go back?

Flying through a field of white clouds,
No reference point above or below, the silence
Broken only by the constant hum of the engine,
The plane buffeted by an air pocket.

That’s how it always was in British Guiana
During the colonial days: periods of calm
When nothing happened and time stood
Still, and those intervals with events
Changing our lives forever.
Suddenly, we ran into
A rain cloud. Large drops
Poured down, bounced off the
Metal skin, cascaded down the flaps
And disappeared into the grey void below.
Droplets formed on the window, were caught
In the backward flow of an air stream created by
the movement of the plane, and dispersed into rivulets.

Sixteen years: More than a decade. One hundred and ninety-two

captured memories

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Months. Not a very long period when considered in the
Passage of time, but long enough to warp the memory
And dull the senses, And like loosely connected
Parts of a puzzle, the years fall into place
Once the pieces
Are joined.

Going back. Could one ever really go back?

 

END