The Vibrating Pond

By Nigel Howse

The Vibrating Pond is a collection of fiction pieces written over forty years . The phrase , ' The Vibrating Pond ' , while having strong affiliations with Britain and America , derives first from a poem from my book of poetry titled The Hammer Bird , published in 1985 .

Slow Silences

Rings Singing ;

Soft Pond ,
Vibrating vision .

Fly ecstasy ,
Shimmering sky ;

Green wings ,
Eternal blue .



River Deben is not a short story , but is my own observations , compiled in diary form , dated 1999. The first six fiction works titled : River Deben , My First Day At School , A Winter's Tale , A Dog's Life and The Isle Of Halvos , are pre-2000 .The five remaining ,Wolf Pack , Bolip^e , Black Caymen Egwah , V W Vet , Claymore's Rattle , and Helter Skelter ,
were written 2014 -15.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546283836

Book preview

THE VIBRATING

POND

NIGEL HOWSE

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AuthorHouse™ UK

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

Phone: [phone]

© 2017 Nigel Howse. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/17/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8379-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8380-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8383-6 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Foreword

The River Deben

My First Day At School

A Winter’s Tale

A Dog’s Life

The Isle Of Halvos

Wolf Pack

Bolip^E

Black Caymen Egwah

Vw Vet

Claymore’s Rattle

Helter Skelter

FOREWORD

The Vibrating Pond is a collection of fiction pieces written over forty years. The phrase, ‘Vibrating Pond’ derives from a poem from my book of poetry titled The Hammer Bird, published in 1985.

Slow Silences

Rings Singing;

Soft Pond,

Vibrating vision.

Fly ecstasy,

Shimmering sky;

Green wings,

Eternal blue.

River Deben is not a short story, but is my own observations, compiled in diary form, dated 1999. The first five fiction works, titled: River Deben, My First Day At School, A Winter’s Tale, A Dog’s Life and The Isle Of Halvos are pre-2000.

The five remaining, Wolf Pack, Bolip^e, Black Caymen Egwah, V W Vet, Claymore’s Rattle, and Helter Skelter, 2014 -15.

THE RIVER DEBEN

The Deben river in view at Woodbridge at low tide. I see the brown slimy shining soft replenishing mud with a seam of streaming water running in-flowing from the ebb tide returning. A barren trickling bird-calling place on a bright early morning.

The thin seaweed is sizzling amidst the swish of outflows. Canadian geese, counted 55 rise slowly waddling up the far flats like a anciently clan-like congregation the farthest grouping, steering toward the farthest shoreline: a bank of grass below the far trees on the crest of the horizon.

The boats: yachts of several sizes have turned in the current, now facing west. Two pairs of swans pass them, drinking serenely and slowly, dipping their curling necks drinking the water and preening. Their forms reflected, dropping white feathers into the languid water. Farther upstream a heron sentinel like, stands and mechanically moves, resuming his stark firm poise watchfully.

Repetitive as a croaking frog, a lone duck is driven by five approaching swans from midstream onto the flats. A single goose also leaves the water, followed by the mate of another, finding the mud deep, as both purposefully yet quickly march up east, past where I sit. The seagulls fly indolently, dropping down to prick at the rivers edge before soaring away again; turning up into the air, rising and beating along the air.

The river curves, broken by the encroaching mud banks. A playful black crow stands on a bench seat, insistently taunting at the river birds before flying northwards, settling on to a beached motorboats prow. It continues calling out, bobbing it’s head, it’s voice harsh and repetitive. A swan, tossing and bathing it’s puffed out feathers in midstream, motions replying.

The heron has stepped out onto an old slipway, his footsteps stitching up again in methodical rhythm to the water and again slowly, feet enter the shallows. Two oyster catchers flick at the mud, their beaks like needles darting forwards, persistently reaching for food. One leaves, flying out. The wings, white flickering are in contrasting pattern against the flat black shadows of the calm waters. Across the far bank it flies, lifting above tall hedges, heading over the banking hills marking Sutton Hoo. The sandy fields are presently growing beet and maize below the horizon of scots pine woodland.

Three green male mallards soar past, chasing a single hen, calling once, twice again. The geese are turning round, the gaggle in unison are trumpeting together; their fat brown bodies like horn pipes waddling down towards the river; vocal, flat footed on the mud.

The sky is clear but for a planes vapour trail. Before me, the geese hear the train coming into the station. The metal squeaks, the locomotives body halting briefly before the clanking of wheels rolling the metal stock forwards out of the yard, pulsing and then quickening towards Ipswich. The geese move away too, walking further up, the bank disturbed temporally by the mechanical noises. Looking south-east far away, a heat haze pales the colours of the fields patchwork, turning blue-gray the parsley shaped trees like smoke in the far distance.

A swan flicks it’s wings like