Here we have some examples of Mary Mageau’s happy mastery of the Drabble form… Read on…………………….
As Promised, a Few More Selected Flash and Micro Fiction by Mary Mageau
Before us hangs, ‘Still Life with Golden Goblet,’ by Pieter de Ring. From Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum, we view a selection of its finest seventeenth century Dutch paintings. I observe de Ring’s lavishly rendered bread, sea food, and grapes – so luscious I long to eat them. Amazed by the contrast between the vivid red lobster and the rich aquamarine table covering, I remark, ‘This is one of the artist’s finest works yet he never signed the canvas.’
‘Oh, but he has,’ my partner replies. ‘De Ring loved a puzzle so look again more carefully.’ As I study the picture, I see it—a painted silver ring—resting under the lobster’s claw.
Leaving the gallery we make our way through green rolling hills toward the Bardellini farmhouse. An eighty fifth birthday is being celebrated. Several long tables have been set up on the lawn under the trees. Guests stand and raise their glasses while the patriarch is escorted to his place of honour. He greets us then raises his knife and fork. Platters of food appear as the tables groan under the weight of fresh breads, garden salads and delicious Tuscan hot dishes. The animated conversation flows freely, together with quantities of red wine. Looking at my partner I take his hand remarking, ‘This scene reminds me of your first postcard sent from Sienna. Oh how I treasured it.’ It was the end of a perfect day.
This universal frame began.’
(Ode to Saint Cecilia, John Dryden)
On my desk lies the music for a fugue. Its opening line of single notes, each delineated by rhythm and pitch, threads its way across the page. Played first by one hand then the other, accompanied by a variation of itself, multiple lines weave a texture of horizontal strands. One, two, and three voices join, as each intersects to create vertical harmony. Each dissonance presses toward its resolution in this tapestry of sound. Music’s architecture, released from the constraints of stone, concrete, and steel, soars in Bach’s hands.
An aerial walkway stretches high above the rainforest. The signpost cautions, ‘Only two persons at a time permitted on the third section.’ My partner, a strong climber, takes the lead. We watch the first tree tops come into view then fall away. I look on in apprehension as the forest floor disappears below. ‘Let’s take a break, Jack,’ I call minutes later. We stop to rest, pausing for a cold drink before we press on.
Near the end of our climb the sky walk sways alarmingly with each step. My hands ache from clutching the guide rail ropes as I glance down through gaps in the boards under my feet. There is only open space. Finally we reach the last viewing platform to gaze in wonder over the canopy of the Lamington National Park. The rain forest stretches far and wide like the rise and fall of a rolling sea of green. Overhead floats an endless field of blue sky. High above us a wedge-tailed eagle soars – riding the thermals – winging free.
‘Was this worth the effort?’ he turns to me with a smile.
‘You bet it was,’ I reply, giving him a hug. ‘Can’t wait to do it again!’