Perhaps, or maybe I should say most likely, you haven’t heard of Wallgnarps. Grandad came from London, England 60 years ago. He’s been telling his children and grandchildren all about Wallgnarps ever since. Well actually he’s been telling anyone who will listen, be it his children, grandchildren, or the unsuspecting young woman sitting next to him on the plane.

Wallgnarps, Grandad will tell you, are little creatures that hang upside down on the little stonewall laneways throughout England. They are similar to bats in that they hang upside down, fuzzy or I should say furry like a mouse and without the wings. They hang by their tails like American opossums. Some can be the size of a fist, but they can grow larger, to roughly the size of a small melon. It can be rather unnerving to come across one, especially if you have never seen one before.

Imagine yourself walking casually down an old country lane in Devon, it’s a beautiful sunny day. Who am I kidding, it’s more likely gray and cloudy and threatening to rain – a lovely day as I was saying. Imagine, you are strolling down the lane, hugging close to the wall as you go around the curve, you hear the roar of the engine of an oncoming motorist. You don’t want to be hit, the locals have a reputation for speeding down the lanes, so you pause to wait for the old Land Rover to pass.

In that short space of time, before the old jalopy skirts around you, you get a creepy feeling that something is inches from your right shoulder. You don’t want to lose site of the vehicle, but what… is… that… thing? You want to jump away, but if you do you’ll land right in the path of the car barreling down on you.

Really your back should be pressed up against the wall, so Mister Andretti doesn’t run over your feet as he careens down the road. But that thing…? It has huge eyes – dark and piercing, staring you down, and it starts squeaking a high-pitched warning – you’ve come too close. Its fur is a light brown to match the stone wall. Its little clawed feet grasp the wall and its tail is wrapped around the vines of the ivy that climbs and intertwines itself with the blackberry brambles that hang over the wall from the farmer’s fields.

What you don’t know is what it will do? Will it bite? Jump on you? Climb in your hair and scratch your face? Or even worse maybe it has rabies! I really can’t tell you. I’ve never come across one myself. They are so rare.

My father, Grandad, is the only one who really knows. He’s been telling people about them ever since he was roped into being Dungeon Master in a game of D&D back in 1985. And yes, he did tell some poor college student on the plane to lookout for them on her next trip to England!

Original flash fiction essay written by Laura Lane first published in Flash Fiction Friday in 2020

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Somethings just don’t preserve well.

I love fall. I love the colours. I love how the leaves fall from the trees, slowly gliding, twisting and turning and tumbling down to the ground or speeding past me with a gust of wind. I love the accumulation of leaves on the sidewalk or in the gutters so that as I shuffle my feet through them, they almost slow me down. They at least remind me how I let them slow me down on my trudge to and from school each day or how I eagerly looked for piles that were raked into mountains for me to dive into, swim through and when I come up for air and head home,  having telltale red, yellow and orange reminders peeking out of my socks, stuck in my hair and the odd time down my shirt.

I loved collecting as many types of leaves as I could in every colour and size. Big red maple leaves, yellow oak, orangey brown birch and tiny little willow leaves. I wanted them all and I wanted to keep them forever. Some years they were kept in shoe boxes. Other years pressed between pages of the biggest books I could find in the house. But try as I might they inevitably turned brown, dried out and crumbled into brittle pieces of dust. 

That’s why when my dad hit on one more of his great sales ideas, I fell hook line and sinker for it. My dad has a plastic manufacturing company and he hates to throw out plastic or at least let anything go to waste. He’s always looking for ways to use the small cut off pieces that are left over.

So about 10 years ago he looked at the clear acrylic plastic cut offs and he hit on an idea. We would cut them into 3 inch by 3 inch squares then collect the best, brightest and most unique fall leaves, press them to the underside of the squares and adhere them with the end pieces of the plastic tape that the company makes as well. Stick on trivet feet in the four corner and voila – drink coasters. We’d package them as sets of four plus a larger hot pad trivet to match. I came up with the idea to wrap them in the clear cellophane wrapping paper tied with red, orange and yellow ribbon, with a little label attached. We’d offer it to local charities as a fundraising item and 25% of the proceeds going to the charity!

Brilliant idea! I jumped right on that bandwagon. My kids and I headed out the door immediately to collect the best, brightest and most colourful leaves we could find. My dining room table became the assembly line of coaster production.  We were in business!

Okay actually we were in production. In order to be a real business, we needed sales! We found a few unsuspecting friends and family members who were willing to fork over $20 but knocking on doors proved harder than I expected. No local businesses were willing to stock them and as our inventory begin to collect dust through the winter and into the next spring, my carefully chosen bright fall leaves did as they inevitably did in my shoebox, they turned a sad sorry brown no matter what colour they started out. Nature won out again.

I have a few coasters left at home and every time I find one tucked away in the drawer under the window seat or under a stack of magazines I am reminded that some things, most things, like fall leaves are meant to be enjoyed in the moment and not laminated or tucked away in a shoebox.

Original essay by Laura Lane first published in the The Voice of Pelham Column Six in 2020

The post “Fall Foliage” Essay by Laura Lane first appeared on Laura Lane.

Today my dishwasher became a dish dryer
as my husband creatively used the rack to stack
the freshly washed dishes

A huge reminder that we can’t afford
repairs or a new one
it doesn’t fit into our new ultra
conserve on everything,
skinny jeans tight
budget

and he doesn’t like it
I made him wash dishes by hand
the first time in 10 years
and I don’t have the energy to say thanks
thanks for something I have done for years
without anyone asking
except when someone says
“mom there’s no clean dishes
we’re out of glasses,
I can’t find a fork!”

So I unload the dishwasher everyone sees filled
and load it up with 3 more loads that day
but now that it’s broken
I don’t want to be stuck
with one more thankless job
of washing glasses as well as pots
spending hours
at the sink
seeing the splash marks on the tiles
like little eyes peering at me
guilting me into seeing one more thing
I don’t have time to clean

My hands getting repeatedly burned
and then frozen
when I can’t get the temperature right
reaching into an overflowing sink
spilling over like waves over the breakwater
of a kitchen counter
flowing like Niagara Falls
over the edge
onto my feet
I hate that
not noticing until I’m already wet
my socks dripping
torn whether I should just
leave them on to mop up the next spill
I know will happen
minutes from now

my hands are prunes
and if I’m not careful
buy the wrong dish soap
they’ll be dry and hurting me hours from now
it’s always so hard to know when to pull the plug
the water is still warm
but it’s gross with grease
and goop that once was someone’s soup
because they forgot to rinse the bowl
before throwing it in the sink or
stacking more bowls on top
concealing the mess

just like that pile of dirt that accumulates
under the carpet
cause no one wants to get the dustpan out
and I know cause sometimes it’s me
I hate to stoop and prop the stupid broom
against my shoulder while holding
the too small dustpan that won’t stay flush with the floor
letting the dust and sand and tiny particles
escape and hide
until you pull back an inch
over and over and over
and six more times
‘til I just don’t care anymore and leave the last little bit to get blown away
as soon as someone opens the back door

If I could someday, I’d fly away
pretending I am a little sparrow
flitting about
unobtrusive
with a happy little chirp

Instead I’m staring out the window
into the neighbour’s yard
while my shirt gets wetter and wetter
pressed up against the counter
stopping the water from reaching
my sopping wet feet
trying to decide
is the water warm enough to do one more pot?
even though I haven’t seen a single bubble
since 3 pots ago

And that’s why tonight I said
“Enough is enough! Everyone has to have a turn”
and he doesn’t like it
cause I should have said that 10 years ago
“Let’s do this together”
When love was so strong, he’d do anything for me
but love is quieter now
more routine
lovely but routine

That wasn’t what he signed up for
a wife making him do dishes
once a week
he likes his cushy spot on the couch
he probably thinks
“let’s not rock the boat”

Maybe tomorrow I’ll thank him
when I go to inspect the work he’s done
and overlook the spots and the things
I’m sure he’s left behind
for me to do
I guess that’s what I signed up for.

Original poem by Laura Lane, First published in The Banister Anthology and Poetry Contest by the Canadian Authors Association Niagara Chapter 2022 as a Judge’s Choice

The post “Dishes” poem by Laura Lane first appeared on Laura Lane.

The water pivots
one moment serene
being pulled
from the space above
then pivots
into freefall
like thousands of its friends
all launching themselves
from the safety of the plane
to the freedom of the air
as they skydive down
to their next adventure
tumbling as they land
not on hard earth
but into the pool below
tossed under the surface
then floating serenely on
until pulled once more

Original poem by Laura Lane, First published in the Minnow Literary Magazine 2022

The post “Waterfall” poem by Laura Lane first appeared on Laura Lane.

The rice began to squirm

tiny almost imperceptible movements

playing tricks on my fragile mind

precariously perched on the edge

of a terrestrial sidewalk

Original poem by Laura Lane, First published in Versification Ezine 2021

The post “Unhinged” Poem by Laura Lane first appeared on Laura Lane.

Small of stature
long dark hair
friend of a friend
a little forlorn
look in his eyes
that sadness it
penetrates deep into the soul

I drove by
He was standing there
against that wall
he peered into the car
I waved
Climb inside
Where do you want to go?
Do you need a ride?

I knew that street
that corner
standing against that wall
I knew those boys weren’t
peering into cars
looking for me
they were peering into
cars looking for ….

But this friend of a friend
Why him? Why there?
Do you have a place
to stay tonight?
No? That’s terrible!
Working the streets
no place to go
Have you eaten?
No? That’s terrible!
Working the streets
no place to go

I have a little food
I’ll share with you
and a couch
and a blanket
Stay with me tonight

But where is he now?
His name was Steve
I look for him
on that corner now
Where did he go?

His name was Steve
Don’t tell me things happen
No! That’s terrible!
Working the streets
no place to go

Original poem by Laura Lane, First published in the Hamilton Mountain Writers Guild Anthology Volume V 2021

The post “His Name was Steve” poem by Laura Lane first appeared on Laura Lane.

Silently I listen to the beating of my heart

the peace moves around me

flows through me

caresses my soul

gratitude envelopes me

then evolves into peace once more

my heart has been touched

and my soul has been healed

silently I thank the Lord

again, in the quiet of the night

Original poem by Laura Lane, First published in the Brock University Unesco Poetry Contest Ebook 2020

The post “Peace” Poem by Laura Lane first appeared on Laura Lane.

Row upon row

                        standing sentinel

wind swept snow covered

            feet firmly rooted

reverent heads bowed to the winter sun

ears stung by bitter cold

            cradled in brittle fingers

                                    hardened casualties of time

Forlorn heroes solemnly maintaining their rank

            fighting against the wind’s forceful blow

            never abandoning fealty sown in the field

a duty planted deep within the tilled soil

bravely thrusting up like new recruits

their sweet prize protected from every element

courageously loyal to the land

the seasons having stolen the victory

harvest is the last relief

Original poem by Laura Lane, First published in the Niagara Community News 2010 and Brock University Unesco Poetry Contest Ebook 2020

The post “Guardians of the Land” poem by Laura Lane first appeared on Laura Lane.

A shimmering blanket of snow

lays there peaceful and cold

enveloping the house in its chilly embrace

covered in little sparkling diamonds

its edges folded precariously over the eves

eagerly awaiting the opportunity to tumble

slowly crashing like a wave

in one swift motion

so it can smother the flowerbeds below

covering them until spring.

Original poem by Laura Lane, First published in the Niagara Community News 2010

The post “Winter Blanket” Poem by Laura Lane first appeared on Laura Lane.

I am the Light

            blazing down on the desert sand

            glowing florescent at the bottom of the ocean

            filling the night sky as a canopy of little diamonds

I am as tiny as a firefly

            and as powerful as a laser beam

I flood the stage with colour

and gently peek through the clouds

I prompt the birds to sing, warm the earth and wake the flowers

I gaze shyly over the horizon during the northern yuletide

I dry out the creek beds at the peak of the drought

I am  …the aurora borealis dancing across the northern sky

            the eerie calm that peers through as the eye of the hurricane

            the torch creating puppeteer shadows on bedroom walls

            the rainbow of colours reflected over the waterfall

            the lightening that strikes during thunderous summer storms

I keep the children awake on summer evenings that seem to last forever

I warm the sunbathing kitten in windowsill

            and dry the fresh laundered clothes on the line

I brighten the face of the moon and can be seen in the flicker of the candle

I tan your skin and bleach your hair

I am the sunrise and the sunset

I am the Light

Original poem by Laura Lane, First published in the Hamilton Mountain Writers Guild Anthology Volume 3 Arising 2019

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