Boys Will be Boys

Why is it that little boys are so fascinated with matches?

I don’t know why I was looking out the kitchen window at that particular time but I saw Brent and friends sitting in a circle staring at the centre while Brent was talking. They were all concentrating hard on what Brent was saying and suddenly they all jumped up and ran off in different directions

I smiled and thought “The game has started.

As I carried on with my chores I was vaguely aware that Brent had come into the house but before I could even process the thought the slamming door said that he had gone out again.

A short while later I was in the kitchen again. When I looked out the window I was startled to see that the boys had collected wood and had built a bonfire.

“Not a good idea with this wind,” I thought.

And as that thought hit me I saw a spark ignite an old tree near them. I dropped my kitchen towel and ran to the door shouting “Brent get the hosepipe.”

The boys were moving away from the bonfire and each face reflected my panic. By this time the fire had spread down the garden into the vacant plot behind the house. I realised things were getting beyond my control. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called the fire department. The scared boys clustered around me, horrified at what they had started.

Well all’s well that ends well they say and a group of boys had learned a valuable lesson.

Feed the Birds

 

I watched as the little bird flew around me and then it started flying forwards. I stood quietly watching it. It came back towards me and flew around my head a few times. It flew away from me, turned and flew back towards me.

I must be slow. It did this several times until I hit my forehead and said “Wake up! He wants you to follow him.”

He flew away again and turned around. When he saw me following he flew on, turning around every few seconds to check up on me.

At last we came to a decrepit house standing all alone in a clearing. The bird hovered at the door before flying to the window. He hovered again before flying back to the door. When he went back to the window I followed and peered in. I was horrified to see an old man sprawled on the floor, his leg at an amazing, awful angle. I rushed to the door and tried the handle. I breathed a sigh of relief when it opened. The bird flew in with me and circled the man’s head.

“Hello,” I called from the doorway.

A weak voice muttered “Thank God!”

I rushed to the old man’s side and patted his shoulder. “Let me call for help.”

“No signal.” His voice was edged with pain.

I walked around outside till I got a signal to make the call. I listened to the advice of the young lady on the other end after I had given her the details she required.

I walked back to the cottage. After checking that he was okay I filled a glass with water. I held his head up and held the glass to his lips.

“When did this happen?” I asked.

“At about seven o’clock,” he said. “I always feed the birds at seven. How did you know to come here?”

“A little bird told me,” I replied.