A Blackbird Sings on Bluebird Hill

I wrote this for a flash piece competition. It had to be 500 words and based on or inspired by the lyrics of “The Riddle” by Nic Kershaw.  It is my first attempt at prose !  A few people have said they like it … I hope you do too 🙂

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I have been watching and waiting for some time, she is more precious than all the gasoline and gold in the world, but she doesn’t really see me yet. So far I am just pieces of a valentine to her, but tonight I will sing to her under the big old tree by the river, and in the veil of the night I will win her heart and her trust.
It has been a game, with sly looks in corridors and passing notes in the scullery, code words and cryptograms to add adventure, I am the blackbird and she is my bluebird.
A wiser man may have folded some time ago. But I stopped being wise when she arrived here to work as the junior kitchen maid.  Not a conventional beauty, but her smile lights up the world and I see kindness in her eyes and all of her actions. I am the strongman around here, her duties often take her into the gardens, and it has not been difficult to make sure we say hello every day. It was lucky that I saw her writing down her thoughts, and turning them into a rhyme, it has given us a shared love, and we have overcome shyness, by talking about, and in poetry.
I have had time to work out how to get her away from the house, lucky again that it is now Valentine’s Day, her head has been full of red hearts and pretty birds, blue skies and sunshine.  It’s a very large house, and the property extends right down to the river, we will not be missed once our duties for the day have been done.
There will be a full moon tonight, and it’s still warm. She was a little hesitant to agree to meet me under the old tree, but the charm of Valentine’s Day and delight that I have written a song for her overcame her fears. Everything is arranged now; the game has been more fun than I thought it would. Hinges oiled, paths cleared of gorse and bracken, and there’s a hole in the ground under that big tree, it always fills up with pine needles making it soft and cozy – I have made sure it’s a very comfortable and secluded spot.
The picnic basket is already under the tree, as are some blankets and some wine, taken from the pantry while the butler was sleeping off excessive port and cigars. I will carry my guitar with me when we leave the house this evening, her song is done, and it is the best I’ve ever written. I know she is as excited as me; her eyes were shining with anticipation when we saw one another a few moments ago.
I have had time to kill and I’ve made plans for us.  Tonight is just the start, in the morning, a blackbird will sing on bluebird hill thanks to the calling of the wild in us all.

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