The bolt hole
To me it is a potting shed, somewhere that I might work in secret. A place where my pen can flow uninterrupted. It is a bolt hole from those individuals in society who call, just to be able to tell their friends that they had met me. Even that they are responsible for inspiring a well known character in my latest poem.
When in fact all they did was to dine at my table, stare at my wife, and criticise the weather. They just can not understand that I need to write. That writing pays the bills. Puts food on the table. That writing built the roof that sheltered them from the thick mists that form here.
Fortunately when I purchased the old farm, I started planting trees. Now my potting shed is hidden for their gaze. When I am here, they can no longer gawp at my old fashioned accent. No longer say to my face that my home is quaint. I know that I am fortunate that my poems are well received, that this county offers such a rich history for me to turn into poetry.
Nay lad stop gawping at the heather, ‘Tis time to work.
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What I would give for a little space like this too!
Me to, but I am hoping t get a potting shed.
Such and enchantment. The poet protector ‘That writing built the roof that sheltered them from the thick mists that form here.’
One doesn’t always have to understand the poet to read the words. Like all gifts writing can be a double edged sword. And that heather doesn’t like waiting… 😉
Thank you Jules, this flash story was inspired by two well known early Victorian writers, they became so famous that they received a constant stream of visitors.
Why don’t you put a board, “uninvited guests not welcome!”
It was not the Scottish way to turn people away, however this flash story was inspired by two well known early Victorian writers/poets, they became so famous that they received a constant stream of visitors. For quite differing reasons neither of them could afford not to writer each day.