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The Harpist

Photo copyright: Michelle De Anglas
Photo copyright: Michelle DeAngelis

The melody of a harp being played, drifted like a warm ocean. Slowly surrounding people. Like the scent of a rare flower, it found ways to impart its message. Passionate kisses flowed like thick Devon cream, as the dance floor became the place to be. Even the regular patrons of the Chelsea bar shut the rest of the world out of their thoughts. Slowly cupids arrow worked its magic, immunity was not allowed. Not even for a future king, who was there incognito. He would find love but lose his kingdom.

This week I found myself writing flash centred on James Bond, but it was just not to my taste, so I have place Bond in the pending file. Meanwhile I am late to the party this week, witth a piece of flash which feels like it needs refining.

I have a special family party to attend this week, which means I may not comment much, but I will reply to any feedback…

A fine day at Mevagissey
A fine day at Mevagissey
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