Thursday Photo Prompt – Look Out – #writephoto

Sue’s prompt for this week’s #writephoto challenge.


A glimpse of daylight
Like a missing jigsaw piece
Suspended in air

Ritu 2016


Thursday photo prompt – The Tower… #writephoto

scotland trip jan 15 107


A cry rang out through the air, across the surrounding fields.

Wilfred looked up from his work. He had been ploughing this particular area for the last few hours and he could have sworn that he had heard cries earlier, but this one was loud, crystal clear.

That voice, whoever it was, sounded in real trouble.

But where was it coming from? There was nothing around here apart from fields. Oh, and that old church.

Come to think of it, the cries seemed to come from that direction. He stopped, as he heard another cry, this one just as clear, but a little bleaker, or so it seems.

Not one to leave someone in distress, Wilfred halted his plough and secured it, then trudged over towards the old church. He didn’t recall ever having seen anyone here, well not for any joyous reason, anyway.  It was usually him and the other farm hands.  Most of the village were afraid to come here.  There were some old stories of people disappearing, never to be found, so apart from the farmer, and his loyal farm hands, no one ventured here.

Wilfred wasn’t fazed by these myths.  He wasn’t one to believe hearsay. Never had. People didn’t just disappear.  There was always a good reason.  It was just the old women in the village sensationalising stories.  Most of these ‘missing’ folk had probably run away from this godforsaken village, not disappeared, to somewhere where they would have a good life, and better prospects.  He wished he had the gumption to do something like that too sometimes.  But he was unable to. His unwell, widowed mother and younger siblings relied on him.  So he was stuck in this job, a job not many coveted, providing for his family.

As he approached the old building, he became very aware of being alone.  The church tower loomed, dark and foreboding, as a silhouette against the golds and russets of the dusk sky.

“Anyone? Help!”

The voice cried out again, and it was definitely here.

As he looked up into the tower, he saw a figure. The voice belonged to what looked like a woman.

“I’m trapped! Oh please! Can you let me out?”

Trapped? How was she trapped? Surely she can get down if she got up there in the first place! Women! Wilfred rolled his eyes and made his way to the door at the base of the tower, which was ajar. “I’m coming up,” he shouted.

The stairwell led him up to a door.  It didn’t appear locked, or stuck.  Oh well… He pushed against the door, that didn’t seem to have any handle. It didn’t take much. As the door opened, he glanced around to where he expected the window to be. There stood a figure with long blonde hair, facing away from him.

“There you go madam, the door is open now, it wasn’t stuck. If you’re alright, I’ll be on my way. I have work to finish.”

He turned to leave but all of a sudden, from behind him, he felt a thump to the back of his head and all went black….


In response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto prompt, The Tower.

Spiral – #writephoto

Sue’s #Writephoto prompt this week…here.

Spiral Sue

I thought I’d try something a little different, presentation wise this time…

Hope you like it!


Oooh! Check me out! Ritu getting creative!

Roses #writephoto

Sue’s photo prompt today reminded me of the first bunch of roses Hubby Dearest gave to me when we were dating. He was a student, so they were never going to be the full-headed, huge, deep red blooms that you need to take a loan out to afford.

But they were roses, there was a dozen, they were red, and they were mine!

I was so touched, I wanted to keep them forever!

Remembering the advice of a friend, instead of trimming them, and sticking them in a vase, I used twine to secure the bunch and then hung them to dry, upside down.  They dried beautifully, with their little heads held high.  The colour faded. What aroma they had, disappeared. But they never failed to raise a smile, when I looked at them. I kept them for a few years, but they got to a state where they started to disintegrate, so I had to say goodbye to them…

Then, two weeks ago, at my parents, I found myself giving my mum the same upside down drying advice! Pops and mum had been away from each other for 5 weeks, as my brother sustained an injury, falling on ice in Finland, where he lives.  Mum went over to him to help out a bit, and Pops was left, home alone.  He keeps busy, but I know how much he missed mum! And when she arrived back, he bought her a beautiful bunch of roses, romantic old fool, my darling Pops!

When I went to visit, they had been sat there for 2 weeks in a vase and were still in amazing condition. Only one bloom was starting to droop. Mum proudly showed her flowers off, and as they were in such good nick, I suggested she dry them upside down, as a wonderful memory!

The photo immediately brought a thought of a haiku to mind, and here it is…

fog and roses 006

Withering away
Yet showing ageless beauty
Sparking memories

Ritu 2016

Tree #writephoto

Sue Vincent over at Daily Echo has given us this photo as our prompt…


I must admit my mind went a bit more ‘adult’ when looking at this photo…


Trussed up and wanting

Unclothed and in submission

Pure debauchery

Ritu 2016

Erm, could it be to do with the genre of book I am reading at present…?

Anyway, the photo also reminded me of a picture I took last year, of a local tree that was, in comparison to the above one, rather modest! See for yourself!


These trees, eh!

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