Esther Chilton’s challenge word for this week is edge. You can join in here: https://estherchilton.co.uk/2025/10/29/word-prompts/
Mining for Clay (shadorma prose)
When I was nine, my family moved to George in the Western Cape for the first time. It was supposed to be a permanent move, but my father hated the year-round rain, so we only stayed in this town for six weeks before moving on to Cape Town. Mom was due to give birth to our youngest sister, Laura, so Cath, Hayley and I were sent ahead to live with our grandparents. Granddad Jack came to fetch us three girls in his old hatchback, but I don’t remember anything about the journey.
When we arrived, Granny Joan was entirely consumed with looking after Hayley who was only thirteen-months old. She was a difficult toddler and refused to eat, a terrible problem for Granny who believed in stuffing children with food all day long. Good food was necessary for children to grow up strong and able to fight off illness and diseases. Cath and I were happy as we got to run wild and get up to whatever mischief I thought up.
One of my grand ideas was to mine for clay in the ditches that ran along the edges of all the dirt roads leading out of the town. Granny and Granddad’s home was reached by one of these dirt roads at that time because they lived close to the start of the forest.
On the afternoon of the great clay mining, Cath and I spent the entire afternoon digging clay out of the ditches with sharp sticks. We stored it in a plastic shopping bag I’d ‘borrowed’ for this purpose. We had to be home by 5pm and when we arrived, Granny took one look at us and started shouting. We were filthy. We had clay all over our dresses, in our hair, and all over our arms legs and faces. Fortunately, I’d seen fit to climb into the ditches shoeless, so our shoes were not full of mud. We were instructed to go to the bottom of the garden and wash ourselves, our clothes and our hair with cold water from the hosepipe. I’ll never forget, five-year-old, Cath, shrieking with displeasure at being squirted down with cold water.
Despite being in trouble over letting my little sister get so dirty and wet, I was thrilled with the clay we had gathered. Cath and I, with Granny’s permission and Granddad’s supervision, spent every afternoon for the next few weeks creating an assortment of ‘ceramic’ goods from this clay. We made baskets filled with fruit, plates, cups, a teapot, and several other interesting figures and creations. Granddad told us to line our artworks up on the step so they could dry in the sun. Once dried, he provided us with some paints and paintbrushes so we could decorate them in vivid colours.
I think Granny was pleased to have us gainfully occupied in the backyard for this time and not running amok ‘looking for trouble’.
young artists
creating artworks from clay
gleefully mined
from ditches
poor Granny had her hands full
looking after us
d’Verse
De Jackson’s d’Verse prompt is to use whirl in a quadrille poem of exactly 44 words. You can join in here: https://dversepoets.com/2025/11/03/quadrille-235-take-your-poem-for-a-whirl-around-the-block/
Spring Cryoconite
sidewalks and streets filled with purple
swirling and whirling in strong, spring winds
fat blossoms pop loudly under feet and tyres
treacherous November brings heavy rains
beauty transforms into saturated mounds
colour metamorphosizing to a purple so dark
it could almost pass as cryoconite 1
1 cryoconite is the name for black snow falling on land that is composed of dust and soot caused by forest fires and man-made global warming factors
The Flower Hour
Terri is hosting a Flower Hour challenge which you can join in here: https://secondwindleisure.com/2025/10/28/the-flower-hour-sunflowers-fade-to-black/























