It’s time for stories…


It’s time for stories and time to tell, dreams weird and wonderful, weaving in and out words, images and thoughts wafting slowly by.

It’s time, it’s time, holding fast as mind slides slowly into sleep and sleep to dreams.

Dreams spin and turn and threads cross over, so what seems straight forward jumps and jars, disjointed.

Track it back and you will find a thread of dream spun so fine, so silver glittery and gold, that it tags you into story and there you find… time.

It’s time, it’s time, as wind whips hard through trees and birds flail and huddle. Dogs quail and cats curl warm.

It’s time, it’s time, it’s time for stories. Come and tell with me.

A moment of Jumbly time: A Jumbly Tale

Way down, down at the river, where the trees trailed leaves in the silty flow, there lived a platypus. Children would dip their toes or jump right in and shriek with delight when they felt the sleek body of the platypus swoop past.

The river waters swished and swashed all the way down to the sea. There was often so much water that backwaters had carved their way, angling away from the flow. The waters there grumbled about which way to go.

The platypus enjoyed the silty waters, scooping up plenty of little fish and tiny yabbies. The children loved that the platypus lived in their river and told tales of what it’s home must look like and whether it had children. No one actually knew.

The Jumbly Man loved nothing better than to row his little dingy up the muddy waters and into the grumbly backwaters. There, where the waters were most confused, was a tumbling of rich silty goodness and a plethora of fish feeding. In a shady nook he would down anchor (actually tying off to an overhanging tree but that doesn’t sound as grand), set his hook and cast his line. Settling comfortably into the boat, he’d tip his hat and rest his eyes. The line had a tiny bell attached so if any fish came calling he would hear.

This day the platypus had followed Jumbly far from it’s territory, into to the rich goodness of the backwaters. There the platypus found a wealth of food and better territory. While Jumbly snoozed and the waters grumbled, the platypus explored.

The tinkling of a tiny bell awoke Jumbly. He jumped to pull in his line. A fine fish indeed! That was his supper taken care of, now one for the boy and his mum and one more for his friend, Mrs Higginbottom. Hooking and casting, fish in bucket, he resumed position.

Meanwhile the platypus had found a burrow, right on the bank! Who’d have thought, a home to move straight into. There was a scent of platypus around the entrance and she moved with caution inside, only to come hurriedly scuttling backwards, charged by the occupant.

Our platypus tumbled into the Grumble, sleek other at her tail. He swooped around her and again, then slid along her side and invited her into his den. She went.

Jumbly had all his fish cleaned and ready for home. Truly a wonderful activity, fishing.

(c) CLH Harper 1/10/2013