100-Word Fiction: ‘(Slight Return)’

‘When you leave you never go back, even if you think you might: it’s impossible.’

With these words he left: took a job somewhere abroad. He never visited, or if he did he kept it quiet. Of course we saw updates online: places he went; achievements; petty squabbles.

‘All as the world turns,’ an old friend once said.

I have grey hairs.

‘There is no such thing as “close of business”.’

That’s another thing I heard.

When he finally returned there was little fanfare, just raised eyebrows.

He hadn’t come back, he had tried to catch hold of a shadow.

100-Word Fiction: A Return (Sonnet)

Those years – did it ever really stick
In mind, this mire of brown estuarine mud?
A trick, forgot in ideals, thick
With thought: how? why? what? should?
There was no habitat here but the past:
The sweet chestnut and bluebells of a dream
A deluge of deliberations that never last
A ferry to a riverbank unseen.
And shrill, but strong, then it called –
A greenshank slits the sky across
And light comes tumbling, lives fall in
And settle. Being here now? No loss?
No rattling rail or kicking boots brought such luck
To have come here, and gained, and stuck