© Bruce Goodman 27 July 2015
Concheetah was a traditional witch, except for a few minor details: she didn’t have a big hooked nose with warts on it; she was married to a rich lawyer; she rarely wore black; she didn’t have a broomstick. But she did have a beautiful step-daughter, called Peach Petal.
Peach Petal was called Peach Petal because she was as gentle as a spring blossom; her skin glowed with a soft, radiant hue; her voice was as tender as a petal floating from a branch in a fragrant breeze.
For Peach Petal’s seventeenth birthday, Concheetah phoned Why-Not-Take-A-Ride-On-An-Elephant Inc. and booked a safari ride. Peach Petal was thrilled. She sat atop the elephant and off they went.
The elephant took her far, far away, through enchanted fields; across babbling streams; over distint mountains; through dramatic alpine passes. She saw baby giraffes; she saw two new-born buffalo playing a game of cavort-around mother; she saw a pride of lions, and she saw a more-than-handsome farmer moving a herd of unicorns.
“How do I get home?” asked Peach Petal of the farmer.
The farmer told the elephant. The elephant took her home; the quick way.
Concheetah was furious. She phoned Why-Not-Take-A-Ride-On-An-Elephant Inc.
“That horrid girl returned,” snarled Concheetah into the phone. “Take her away again, and this time don’t bring her back.”
Away went Peach Petal on the elephant again and, to cut a long journey short, Peach Petal and the farmer had eleven children and together they looked after the amazing animals on their wonderful farm.
As for Concheetah, she fell down a water well while snooping around on the farm. No! She didn’t drown. She is still screaming for help, but Peach Petal and the farmer can’t find a yarn tall enough to haul her out.
Maybe this yarn will do the trick.
Yes indeedy! 🙂
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🙂
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There’s been some tall yarns around here, but this may be one of the tallest indeed….or indeedy, as Pauline says.
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Indeedy – I cannot tell a lie.
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This is indeed a tall tale, but I can see some little ones listening to it with wide eyes!
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I’m rather fond of it myself! Actually, I dreamt it – almost exactly, except the farmer was herding cattle and not unicorns. I changed them to unicorns because I thought the literalists might wonder why the lions were not eating them!
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This one is full of whimsy (which is what unicorns excrete) and I love it! Dream on, Bruce.
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Ever so much thanks. And may a pile of whimsy ever be at your gate for a wondrous garden….
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Can you imagine what kind of garden unicorn poo would generate? Oh, the rainbows and sparkles!
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I have such a garden. I thought everyone did!
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Hmm. If she’s a witch why can’t she get herself out of the well?
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Do you have to be an annoying seven year old?!!! She’s a special kind of witch, and when they’re wet they lose their magic!
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“I’m melting…”
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Help! Get Dorothy!
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That’s what happens when your mean. Great tale Bruce. The unicorn poo comment made me lol! 🙂
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Your should be you’re (tut) I’ve being doing that a lot (tut) !
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I saw a unicorn once, but now I just have a goat and the garden poo is not the same…
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lol!
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As I was reading this tale, I was trying to imagine what the twist was likely to be. I imagined all manner of evil fates for little Peach Petal.
I didn’t expect what came, though.
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Glad to have served the unexpected, Keith! Thanks for reading and commenting.
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Laughed out loud. Did the elephant take in Tipperary?
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No – the elephant took the short cut, and as you know it’s a long road to Tipperary!
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Just desserts, I like to think of her still yelling down that well 🙂
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And such a comment from one whose blog is called “Harvesting Hecate”! (And I might add to any reader passing by who doesn’t follow Andrea’s blog: you’re missing out on a treat!)
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Well Bruce, if you see an elephant in your yard then maybe it’s time to worry….we don’t have any wells around here 🙂
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Just the very occasional pink one!
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Fun to see you writing Fantasy. But one has to wonder what meds you’re on to generate such fantastical dreams: Peach Petal had eleven children. Why not link them together to haul grandmama out?
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I’m on eleven pills a day and need a heart transplant which they’re not going to give because of the shortage of dead donors. (So there ends any fantasy!) However, I still mow the lawn, weed the garden, write a story a day, and dream of the days long ago!
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Hmmm. So eleven pills = eleven children. More-than-handsome farmer = heart transplant. Undead Witch in the well = shortage of dead donors. It’s not a wonder you had that dream.
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However, reality keeps you grounded in the day to day joys of simply enjoying those joys!
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Yep – thanks for that, Oscar – you and a few others always make my mornings/evenings/afternoons/dawns/dusks… so …. thanks!
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