THE VILLAGE SMITHY ~ "Need A Hoof Nipper?" ~ Epic*sode 2 ~ By Absolutely*Kate (#flash-fiction)

THE VILLAGE SMITHY

 

~ By Absolutely*Kate  
 

Epic*sode 2 ~ "NEED A HOOF NIPPER?"

 
  
Click here for The Beginning Epic*sode

 

A mighty man the village smithy was to behold in the town livening up to be Liza's new town. (If ever a lady needed a new town, this shady lady was she.)  On the shady side of the Essex green, under the magnificent spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy's planishing hammer pounded testosterone into consenting anvil. Again, again . . . forcefully again, harder, stronger, swifter, more true with every arc his sinewy hands of instinct threw. 

Rugged the repetition that rose and fell, cleared the air . . . and clang, clang, clang went that volley. Recitation of elementary Longfellow rolled as easy off the mind and tongue as primal sensations dodge to forge molten their heat. The muscles of his brawny arms were as strong as iron bands. Sweat glistened where muscles punctuated the day. Reprising exclamation's point, Liza extended one white-gloved hand, and heard herself listen to gumption say ~

"Saaaaay Mister, I'm new in town. You have a hoof nipper?"

 
Where the hell that came from -- a snippet of a movie time with her funny Ma, or some snatch of lore in a book long paged and just about forgotten -- Liza couldn't for the life dancing Virginia reels in her peepers 'pon the the genteel town of Essex rightly say. But banal wouldn't become her, no matter how bodacious the view.  
 
A lyricist, after all, was attuned to break new ground ~ especially with the pomp that circumstanced a dame just blowin' in, fresh off the steam train, desiring fiercely to make a new resounding mark in a new town.  To make other towns . . . best forgot.

 

Come rain or come shine, underlying forces yet unseen, the village green was fast swirling to become Liza's kalideoscopic scene. Townsfolk took notice, slowed up their chatter. The butcher nudged the baker. Keenly, the business acumen of these men heeded what mattered. The village smithy stopped mid-swing. 
 

Liza was quicker than her own sassy wink. "You know Smithy, it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing." 
 

With nary a doo wop, the brassy band in the gazebo just played on. Seems only the candlestick maker, peering 'neath the forest green awning 'cross the street corner named Desire, had a flicker of what was to come.
 

The village smithy spoke. "You need a hoof nipper?"

© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

 in a small-town large state of mind 

Photo ala Wolfrage

TO FORGE AHEAD

NEXT WEEKEND

ON THE VILLAGE GREEN

WHERE THE MEADOWLARK

TRILLS HIS TUNE

THE VILLAGE SMITHY ~ By Absolutely*Kate

THE VILLAGE SMITHY

 

~ By Absolutely*Kate  

It was a new town. It was to be her town. The kind of town you just wanted to amble around. And so she did. From the Essex train station, she gathered her weathered valise and leather shoulder bag, sauntered up Broad and sashayed down Elm. She crossed Genesee to see what she could see and meandered her enthusiasm along the bends beckoned by winding round Juniper Lane  . . . which turned enchanting when its tour de force hit the high notes of ample brass fanfare upon the Village Green.  

 

Over hill and over dale, a resounding gazebo band was practicing star-spangled standards of Memorial Day renditions. The jostling chatter of townsfolk interjected here, there and everywhere, evoking Norman Rockwell with sound effects. The butcher and the baker were haggling over meat on the street. No doubt the candlestick maker in the shop where forest green canvas awnings were flapping could wax eloquent over town goings on. What a wide open view to pan the panorama!

 

And so she did, and from her vantage near the street light on the streetcorner named Desire, she saw him, the most evocative character to jar her peepers so far, in all the travels in all the towns -- and even a few gin joints she'd known. She spied him under the spreading chestnut tree. Yes, that was where the village smithy stood. An urge warmed her bold, an urge lunged her fearless. Instinct pummeled nerves, to speak out to him if she could. "Well, move feet,"  Liza admonished, setting her stroll from the sunny side of the street to where shady leafed branches bid wonder and she hoped . . . welcome.

© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

in a small-town large state of mind 
  

Photo ala Wolfrage

TO BE CONTINUED

NEXT WEEKEND

ON THE VILLAGE GREEN

WHERE THE WHIPPORWILL

WARBLES STILL . . . 

... OR ...

Click here for Epic*sode 2 ~ "Need A Hoof Nipper?"

SUITCASE TO ISTANBUL . . . By ~ Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33 ... {#Flash Fiction come true}

SUITCASE TO ISTANBUL

~ By Absolutely*Kate

I shall roam narrow streets and the courtyards of mosques and the Grand Bazaar and gaze soft in open awe upon the art of history and the history of art. 

This heaven shall hail from the other side of the world which gave history her venerable start. A different communication shall consume me.

Bosporus ~ ala EricTurner there before me

I shall see ships upon the Bosporus and glide the Sea of Maramara, after traipsing turquoise shores of the Aegean, roaming Roman ruins in ancient Ephesus and the Kingdom of Pergamon. I'll accept the gifts of Troy, genuflect at the Blessed Virgin Mary's later life home and scamper over limestone cliffs before a hot splash in a sulfur spring when my luck becomes Pamukkale.

Temple of Hadrian in Ephesus ala MBell

I shall sip 80-proof Raki for is it not the state drink of this exotic place of wonder and who am I to offend? Which brings me ample reason then, to toast you, dear reader of what my spirit comes here to speak out in humble dance. (AND OH HOW I'LL DANCE!) 

I shall have sensations and laughter and learning with a fellow traveler friend and I will be alluring and touch my beloved's face.

Pamukkale ~ Hierapolis ala BurgundyMT

I am going to Turkey as I write this. I will be in Turkey as most of you read this. 

Upon my return I shall relate to you how came to be THE CURTAIN CALLER of Istanbul who began so veritably long ago, the fame of story tellers ~

Storytellers are you and me knowing all that we taste and sensate becomes new stories to 'tale'. My tales will be of wonders seen, heard, tasted, smelled, touched and sensed within. And I shall ask what is imperative to your senses and sensibilities.

I shall listen quite carefully to sensations and from whence they came and more significantly, where they are going.

Past Turkish writer and international literary award-winner Orhan Pamuk and his heartache of darkness where the blind man can watch snow fall (My Name Is Red), I shall open spirit to hearing the calls of hawkers and the cries of children in the streets. I shall bridge Europe and Asia and the past and the present, and art, culture and history in tempestuous and tender times.

And I shall bring that all back to America in pockets of my new suitcase which will not exceed 50 pounds so help me God. And I know now, this trip shall careen me further . . . in a softer shade of Bold. 

Aegean ala Turkey - MJHarrington

I shall tale you 

after I have seen

magic carpets 

fly.

"Insallah" ~ God willing

"Gule Gule" ~ Goodbye

(for now)

~ Absolutely*Kate

(c) 2010 from a broad abroad, Author Absolutely*Kate

exclusive AT THE BIJOU

The way fate likes to splash, at the simultaneous writing of this piece,

ANTHONY GAVE THIS TO ME!

the illustrious colleague of a wowzer of a WritingMan who knows how to come up the stairs from Bukowski's Basement ~ yes, the one, the only, Anthony Venutolo ~  granted me this most prestigious award. I'm honoured to write and read and glean and grow along with the spiffy, spunky, spectacular and sometimes pretty deep pileup of authors St Jon the Strother keeps congregating out to word'dance action come a Friday's Flash of Fiction. When my suitcase and myself return . . . I shall do Ant proud and pass the torch with flair ... or flare ... but for now, as I take to the air -- I tip my fine fedora (I do have one - Harry B. Sanderford gave it to me and Nelle for my birthday as our 'writing hat'.) to the man who can aptly insert a "rat-a-tat-tat" in the same verbiage as "a Thai hooker working overtime during Uncle Sam's occupaton circa 1944" and "eclectic flash" and "solemn poetry". Humbly Mr V ~ I'm so honoured to know thee and the entourage we seem to share in spirit. F. Scott Fitzgerald woulda pulled a flask outta his best hootch pocket with you anytime. 

Deep Appreci'kation to Anthony, the #Friday Flashers for welcomin' my wading on in and all who take the art of words the farther the further ...

~ Absolutely*Kate,

. . . Believing in Believers . . .