"It was a strange wood, stranger still now the light was fading. Ryan loved it for its litter. Yellowing newspapers nestled in branch nooks, like a crop of dead leaves strangely patterned with print. A sprawling throne of rotten oak trailed dark ivy and coddled a treasure trove of crushed cans. The twigs of one wavering branch had been carefully threaded through the fingers of a red woollen mitten, so that the little tree looked as if it was waiting to grow another hand and start applauding."
Everyone knows I'm a big fan of Frances Hardinger - mostly on the merits of this one book, Verdigris Deep (Review here). The prose was just so gorgeous, creating an atmosphere designed to enhance character and plot - but this was one of the images that has stuck with me.
So all is quiet this way on the Western front except that I'm head down bum up trying to get some work done... so let's see how that goes, shall we? And for the poetic souls out there The Tuesday Poem blog is bristling with talented poets from all around the world, so don't forget to drop by.
NB. Apologies to Frances for not being able to find her and get explicit
permission, although obviously the extract is well within fair use
parameters. But seriously, you've got to be pretty good to be an author and be this #@@^$# shy on the net.