 | As you can see from the date, I'm tardy with my response to this extra flash fiction challenge. It might be that, my brain mired in promo land, I'm baffled by the prompt: life as a river of consciousness. It might be that it's meant to be a special tribute to Sue Vincent and I'm scared of messing up. I knew from the start where I wanted to set my 99-word story: although Sue and I have never met off-line, we've shared some physical territory. The problem is, although winter rain has flooded footpaths, there are no rivers up on the Derbyshire moors. |
Lack of time as much as lockdown rules prevented me from heading out to the Peak District for inspiration, but I finally found what will have to substitute for a story walking the fields across the road. (Having had an almost-argument with a neighbour over whether the government could provide more financial support to people struggling during the pandemic if they didn’t waste our collective cash on handouts to their cronies, I treated myself to an extra half lap!) But I can show some photos of my last visit, on a sunny Christmas Eve. Hopefully they’ll provide some context for my flash, but you’ll also find links to some of Sue’s entertaining and informative posts about the area to fill the gaps.
And a few not from Christmas Eve, and not quite Beeley Moor (but close):
Plus you need a guide stoop and a pair of green hairstreak mating:
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On Beeley Moor
Legend coats this landscape: stone circles, the bronze-age burial mound, Hob Hurst’s House. Layers of later industry: guide stoops for the packhorse trails, millstones left unfinished when grit-grey bread went stale. My thoughts flow through histories of those I’ve met here, steered here, recollected on these moors. Consciousness a stream of memories adrift from date or time. Ideas I’ve birthed amid the heather, drowned in peat-bog, revived on bilberry bushes as green hairstreaks feed. Until the final stile prompts my wondering: What happened to the ice cream lady? How many rambles since her van’s been spotted on the bend?
Confused? Hop over to Sue Vincent’s blog for more about the ice cream lady and Hob Hurst’s House. And for her fabulous photos: this one about the mystery of the missing ice cream includes a photo of that stile, which is a challenge for weary legs at the end of a long walk. In fact, go and look anyway, but come back later and leave me a comment.
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