Leach Publications in Parkdale, Victoria, Australia | Media/news company
Leach Publications
Locality: Parkdale, Victoria, Australia
Address: P.O. Box 2012 3195 Parkdale, VIC, Australia
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21.01.2022 E book version now available - Yipee!
19.01.2022 Quotes taken from the novel, The Broken
16.01.2022 Some more flash fiction for you. SEAGULL I looked at the two of them and I called to them, as I had so often done before. I always call to those who come but so very few of them hear me. Generally, they are too afraid that I will steal chips or some other such nonsense. They shoo me away, stand on the beach, and feel the shifting sand between their toes, Often, they will spend some quiet time looking out at the ocean. But even then, they see only its surface, never knowing it...s depths, never seeing the intricate play of the waves, the wind, and the sky. So few look up, so few hear me, but these two did. They heard me call their names and they followed. Open hearted, they learned to fly.
04.01.2022 Some flash fiction for your enjoyment. A Holy Island Just as well I wore this coat, he thought as he pulled it closer about him. It was thick and warm, and it sheltered him from the wind that blew off the North Sea, a wind that carried with it the memory of ice, snow and arctic cold. He had wanted to visit this island. He knew the history and, from a young age, had heard the stories. Monks had come here almost at the dawn of Christianity, taking their faith to ‘the ends of ...the earth’ and trying to escape the decadence of a collapsing empire. The ‘ends of the earth’ part he could appreciate. It must’ve rained during the night because there were large puddles on the ground. These had turned to ice under a cold, hard sky of clear, pale blue. This was all so very different from the heat and humidity of Northern Australia. Still, he had needed to come here. In Australia, his roots were shallow. It was only in living memory that his family had emigrated. Memory here was much longer. His history lay in these northern islands, but he found the ground hard and cold. The monastic remains had been interesting but sparse. He had seen far more impressive ruins on the mainland and the wind had whistled through the broken stones. The castle was everything a castle should be, built high on a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea. However, this late in the season it had already been locked up for the long winter break. He chose the smaller of the two pubs that were still open. It was narrow and warm but not overly friendly. Clearly, it had been a long season and the inhabitants of the island were also starting to lock up for the winter rest. The two men playing chequers in the corner hadn’t even looked up as he had entered. He sat at the bar and ordered a coffee and a plate of chips. The barman looked at him curiously. Are you staying, or do you want to get the ferry back? He was still chilled from the wind, and the thought of staying any longer than he had to chilled him still further. I’m getting the ferry. Well, I don’t know if you have time for a meal. There’s only a few minutes till the one o’clock leaves and, if this wind picks up a bit, it’ll be the last one for the day. You’ll need to run, or you’ll miss the boat. Seconds later, he was running through the island’s only town, his heavy coat now an encumbrance. He raced down the ferry ramp and jumped, even as the ferry was beginning to raise its vehicle ramp. A crewman scowled at him and swore. He didn’t care. The island was a hard place. He had no idea how the monks had endured the winters in their monasteries of stone. They were tougher men than he. Yet their writings, mirabile dictu, had not been about endurance but about finding joy. See more
