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The Swans

She never knew what she wanted. Of course, nobody else did either, but it didn’t stop her locking those big, brown, imploring eyes on them in a demanding fashion, seeking an easy answer. Trying to work things out in her head rarely led anywhere and the inner dialogue often spilled out, repetitive and unfiltered.

Unwilling or unable to change things, or to know where to start, she built castles in the sky and populated them in her thoughts.

Trapped in a moat of her own engineering, she frequently observed that the life buoys were entirely too round and white to be of any practical use to her.

Opportunities came and went, crocodiles smiled and swam by, and she complained that the largest swan in the moat was too happy for her to accept direction from.

One day, Mr Overlord, the giant who owned the moat, the castle it surrounded and the grounds on which they were built, declared that all of the inhabitants of the moat were to leave, for he fancied the idea of his own private, circular swamp.

Having spent the term of her inhabitance deriding the water reeds and maligning the colour of the water, she suddenly was heard to be telling all and sundry that the moat was particularly serene, aromatic, and above all, ideally located, within a stone’s throw of her air castles.

Threatening to drain the moat with her frenzied arm-flapping, she zoomed round and round the castle, squawking and disrupting the nests of the swans who were packing their few possessions in readiness for the imminent move.

After weeks of this circumnavigation, she turned and began to thrash her way around in the other direction, almost drowning in her wake.

Seeing his beautiful moat in such a drained and unappealing state, and lulled into staying put by Mrs Overlord, the capricious giant no longer desired to live in the moat. The girl ceased her thrashing and reverted to her old ways of picking faults in the fish who swam by, and lying in the dark under the bridge for days on end.

The swans continued to go about their business, dismissed by the girl as having every privilege necessary for easy lives, whilst underneath the water’s surface their legs were paddling furiously.

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Photography for me is a way of trying to make sense of the world, or at least to slow down and look at things a little more closely.

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  • cebrfa
    cebrfaover 5 years ago

    Beautifully written and quite thought-provoking Georgie. The imagery is beautiful and you’ve captured so many complex things so well.

  • Thanks CB, I had some good inspiration/needed to write this for cathartic reasons, and it wrote itself in a few minutes!

    – Georgie Hart

  • Karen  Betts
    Karen Bettsover 5 years ago

    Wow, this is wondereful and so touches a nerve or 2 for me, woundefful discriptions and i can see in my head all the imagery.Sometimes things just have to be written and they come forth of their own accord.

  • Thank you so much Kaz, I’m very pleased to hear you like it! It did need to be written, I’m glad I was able to just sit down and make a story of it.

    – Georgie Hart

  • Meg Hart
    Meg Hartover 5 years ago

    This is a wonderful little fable, Georgie. I have the feeling this is an analogy that runs deep. Beautifully written. I look forward to your next piece.

  • Thank you for your very kind comments JL, I am awaiting inspiration for the next piece!

    – Georgie Hart

  • AliceDoodles
    AliceDoodlesabout 5 years ago

    Excellent. I love the interweaving of the images and the swirling theme. It’s wonderful to have another writer on board. Welcome.

  • Thanks so much Chris! I don’t write much, but this one quickly wrote itself after a ‘period of inspiration’ earlier this year.

    – Georgie Hart

  • Rhoufi
    Rhoufiover 4 years ago

    Georgie, I have seen your ‘eye’ revealed in your photos and I would like to see you write more like this. This piece is immediate and unrestrained, and best of all ‘leftfield’. I like the way you have transposed your emotions into fable. Don’t listen to the doors in the hall opening and closing, just sit down and write – it will be good.

  • Thanks for the encouragement Rhoufi, I rarely seem to be in the mood to write but I ought to do it more often for the fun of it.

    – Georgie Hart

  • Rhoufi
    Rhoufiover 4 years ago

    If I could be so bold as to offer you a source of inspiration. I have just had a quick scan of your gallery and I think you are getting more ‘story’ into your photographs of late. So an image like your “Beaming into the Face of a Storm” , for me, is humming with potential for a story. This is just the sort of image I would take and use as the germ for a story. Don’t have great expectations and don’t write with any intention to let anyone see it. Just have fun with the words, and don’t put it off because you can’t think of anything right now. Just sit down and type the first sentence. Write in the third person, past tense to start with (the natural story telling mode) and see where it takes you. Good luck.

  • Thanks Rhoufi, great advice. I’ll let the idea steep for a bit and hopefully I’ll feel compelled to write soon.

    – Georgie Hart

  • Rick Short
    Rick Shortover 2 years ago

    I love this story and you really know how to capture and hold someone’s attention. Beautiful imagery with words. You are quite the story teller, Georgie :)

  • Wow Rick this one’s well back in the archives, you must have dug back a bit to find it – thanks so much for your wonderful comments, I really appreciate them!

    – Georgie Hart

  • rofotografiks
    rofotografiksover 1 year ago

    Stop ‘thrashing’ about in the moat GH – it’s no good for your arms! very cool piece of writing. Love this:
    “… she built castles in the sky and populated them in her thoughts.” Where do you get that stuff? Mine are ‘Bogs in backstreets’ :))

  • Thanks RO :D Ha bogs in backstreets are very fertile when it comes to the imagination too! Ah my arms are okay, the arms in question belong to somebody else…

    – Georgie Hart

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