Walking down the narrow path with tall weeds was the morning ritual.
When the sky was still dark, and the air was cold and crisp.
The tall weeds moved softly with the breeze, like curtains on both sides.
The curtains gradually thinned down, and there were small, fence-like trees.
Finally, the bigger trees were on the horizon. The birds started chirping and she saw what she’s there for. The golden sparkle penetrating the branches and the leaves.
This popped into my head as I was waking up this morning!!!!
Woods – 80mg
As he wandered through the woods he pondered his new outfit. He'd thrown away the mop cap and wasn't sure about the blue gingham dress. It kept snagging on twigs and already was looking grubby. But he loved the long white apron with its large pockets. Ideal for filling with wild garlic and bluebells and later in the year with nuts and berries.
All in all the wolf was pleased with his acquisitions from Granny's this morning.
"Look mommy! I can see the fairies in the trees!" Nell may have only been three, but she knew what she saw in the forest. Never scary things, no matter how dark and shadowy. Her little heart was so full of joy that she only saw good things like fairies in the woods through her almond shaped eyes. Down Syndrome sounded so ominous once. But today? She may miss developmental milestones, but how many other children can find the fairies?
We were sipping what we call our breakfast beers. I asked my buddy what his favorite golf club was and he gave me a story about his prowess with each club in his bag. I asked him who he was with when he played like that because I had never seen him do all that well. He laughed and asked me what my favorite club was. “The 3 or the 5, but I'll beat you for sure with my woods.”
Glad you liked my oddball take on your challenge. I really enjoy these and I have fun finding an unusual perspective and hitting the word count on the nose. It forces me to consider word choices and to say more with less. Also, breakfast beers are great. In fact, if you have to ask if it's too early to have a beer, you're an amateur and we can't be friends.🤣😁
He meant only to stretch his legs after work. An afternoon walk became an entire week. No roads reached this place, and the birds sang without witness. He ate what the woods offered him. Time softened. The ache he carried dissolved without explanation. The forest simply held him.
Colleagues assumed he’s on vacation. By the time anyone called, weeks had passed. He turned toward the ferns. The world he left did not follow, and he felt no need to return.
After 11+ hours at work, even the sweetest moment twists in my overtired brain.
I read your story expecting a ghost or Slenderman… or the poor child to be sacrificed to the forest witch. Maybe even Mother Nature herself, showing up as a hungry bear. Nope. It was so gentle that I had to reread it to make sure I didn’t miss the punchline. It made me realize—I need time in the woods to reminds me to breathe again.
A group of girls bearing baskets and bags followed one another through groves of trees. Though sundappled, their leaves cooled the air to a comfortable temperature.
At length the girls came to their desired destination, a clearing in the trees. Small woodland animals chittered and birds chirped as they spread a bright cloth upon which picnic things were unloaded.
After hungrily devouring the goodies, the girls laughed and chattered, enjoying the serene ambiance of the gentle woods.
NOTE: This is a true story. The woods belonged to a girl whose father owned a large farm. I remember that day still.
The trees were old and their voices creaked with the years. Still they sang to each other. They sung the sky down into their branches and whispered the wind between their trunks. From the hoary grasp of winter's cold claws, their roots pulled up the babe of spring blossoms and buds. When summer sun breathed down the exposed necks of hikers, the trees would spill forth shade and bleed cool air. And on through it all, still they sang, ancient.
Now then, Miguel. I am getting the distinct impression you are totally taunting me with this prompt 'woods'. I mean, how can I avoid doing a golf-related thing with that prompt, of all prompts?
Well, far be it from me to disappoint.
However - and I'm sure neither your good self nor anyone else will mind, but I just had to go horribly over par again. 232 over par, to be exact.
Anyway, here we go with the next thrilling instalment of Golf Shtick. Our heroes really are in a spot of bother here, and Ruby is about to get deaded, again... Unless...
---
Ruby’s eyes began to glass over. She could see her Larry’s valiant quest to slashie a mashie-niblick pathway through the demonic throng to reach her.
But she knew it was no use. He wouldn’t make it.
She readied herself to give up the ghost.
Meanwhile, in the clubhouse, Felson continued hesitating.
He was a caddy, after all. What did he know about swinging a magical mashie?
As fate would have it, dearest reader, at that very moment, back in your living world, America’s most famous golfer was suddenly felled by a freak golfing accident, involving his bitter rival, a seven iron (they don’t call it a mashie-niblick no more, remember), and a Penfold 57.
It’s always a Penfold 57. Legend has it, that’s the one that grants you entry into this specific golfing heaven.
And guess what? Yeah, he died with a 3-wood in his paws.
He thought he’d died – well, he had – he thought it was the end.
But now he opens those sharp eyes to find himself amidst a hellish scene surrounded by demons and – yeah, fellow golfers. The only kind of folks who ever truly loved him in his world.
And right there before him, a woman is being horribly fouled by a foul beast.
Well, that won’t do. Oh no.
You would’ve thought, wouldn’t you, that cold iron would be perfect for felling demons?
But not in this specific plane of the Underworld. Oh no. Here, it’s woods that do the trick.
And this one, yeah – he’s got the eye of the tiger.
He’s got soul.
He swings.
He connects. Perfectly.
The demon fractures into a thousand little shards.
Ruby gasps, turns to face her saviour.
“Hey,” she gasps again, “ain’t you…?”
He grins. And doffs his cap.
“Uh-huh. Tiger Woods, ma’am. At your service.”
She grins.
He grins. Readies for another demon-felling strike.
I kept staring at the trees—one at a time—like they each had the answer. Maybe they did. Five years of squinting, pondering, decoding bark patterns, left me missing the joke: the woods. Right there. All along. Massive, mysterious, messy. And me? A philosopher with a magnifying glass. Turns out, enlightenment isn’t always lightning—it’s laughter. The woods weren’t hiding. I was. Now, I walk slower. Eyes open. Trees still speak, sure—but now the woods sing, too. Eighty milligrams of perspective: taken daily.
I like the picture!
Thank you Olivia ❤️
Microfiction - 80mg of the Woods
===
Walking down the narrow path with tall weeds was the morning ritual.
When the sky was still dark, and the air was cold and crisp.
The tall weeds moved softly with the breeze, like curtains on both sides.
The curtains gradually thinned down, and there were small, fence-like trees.
Finally, the bigger trees were on the horizon. The birds started chirping and she saw what she’s there for. The golden sparkle penetrating the branches and the leaves.
The first sunlight.
Beautiful imagery! ❤️
Thank you Miguel.
This popped into my head as I was waking up this morning!!!!
Woods – 80mg
As he wandered through the woods he pondered his new outfit. He'd thrown away the mop cap and wasn't sure about the blue gingham dress. It kept snagging on twigs and already was looking grubby. But he loved the long white apron with its large pockets. Ideal for filling with wild garlic and bluebells and later in the year with nuts and berries.
All in all the wolf was pleased with his acquisitions from Granny's this morning.
Miguel, your story is beautiful. Hope you get to have small people you can tell it to
Hoping for some soon 😁
PROMPT: WOODS
THE PICNIC
It was quiet in the woods.
Almost too quiet.
There wasn’t a soul around.
All we could hear was the rustling leaves, crunching beneath our feet.
But we’d been told it was happening today.
And we were determined to see it.
We’d even brought our own picnic, so we could join in.
But the Teddy Bears were clearly running late… 🧸😎🧸
"Look mommy! I can see the fairies in the trees!" Nell may have only been three, but she knew what she saw in the forest. Never scary things, no matter how dark and shadowy. Her little heart was so full of joy that she only saw good things like fairies in the woods through her almond shaped eyes. Down Syndrome sounded so ominous once. But today? She may miss developmental milestones, but how many other children can find the fairies?
Beautiful
We were sipping what we call our breakfast beers. I asked my buddy what his favorite golf club was and he gave me a story about his prowess with each club in his bag. I asked him who he was with when he played like that because I had never seen him do all that well. He laughed and asked me what my favorite club was. “The 3 or the 5, but I'll beat you for sure with my woods.”
While a golfer myself I didn’t think of the prompt to be golf related at all haha. I’d go out for a breakfast beer for sure thi
Glad you liked my oddball take on your challenge. I really enjoy these and I have fun finding an unusual perspective and hitting the word count on the nose. It forces me to consider word choices and to say more with less. Also, breakfast beers are great. In fact, if you have to ask if it's too early to have a beer, you're an amateur and we can't be friends.🤣😁
Haha. 😂
The Forest Made No Demands
He meant only to stretch his legs after work. An afternoon walk became an entire week. No roads reached this place, and the birds sang without witness. He ate what the woods offered him. Time softened. The ache he carried dissolved without explanation. The forest simply held him.
Colleagues assumed he’s on vacation. By the time anyone called, weeks had passed. He turned toward the ferns. The world he left did not follow, and he felt no need to return.
Prompt: The Woods in 80 words
After 11+ hours at work, even the sweetest moment twists in my overtired brain.
I read your story expecting a ghost or Slenderman… or the poor child to be sacrificed to the forest witch. Maybe even Mother Nature herself, showing up as a hungry bear. Nope. It was so gentle that I had to reread it to make sure I didn’t miss the punchline. It made me realize—I need time in the woods to reminds me to breathe again.
80 words (not-so-coincidentally)
I hope it made your day a tiny bit sweeter 😁
You've made me laugh there :)
80mg - Woods
I went dark on this one, just got done streaming the Scream movie series
___________________________________________________________________________
The woods were quiet—too quiet.
Elyn stumbled through the underbrush, breath ragged, heart pounding.
Blood stained her torn hoodie, not hers.
Behind her, twigs snapped—closer, deliberate.
She dared a glance back.
Nothing.
Then a flash of steel, a glint in the moonlight.
She screamed, but the woods would keep the words hidden.
A masked figure emerged, blade dripping.
Elyn ran—one final, futile sprint.
The woods didn't keep secrets.
They buried them.
And tonight, they'd bury one more.
Love the finish! Awesome ending line
A group of girls bearing baskets and bags followed one another through groves of trees. Though sundappled, their leaves cooled the air to a comfortable temperature.
At length the girls came to their desired destination, a clearing in the trees. Small woodland animals chittered and birds chirped as they spread a bright cloth upon which picnic things were unloaded.
After hungrily devouring the goodies, the girls laughed and chattered, enjoying the serene ambiance of the gentle woods.
NOTE: This is a true story. The woods belonged to a girl whose father owned a large farm. I remember that day still.
The tree falls, the woods shaking with the loss. Brenda is familiar with the woods mourning. It never gets easier.
She lays her palms on the ground, moist, warm, and thumbing with life.
“I’m planting another one for you,” she whispers remorsefully.
She’s met with a cool wind that knocks her back. The woods always answer with a warning, as if she’s ever betrayed them.
Standing up, she sends a silent prayer for the fallen tree, then gets to chopping.
Woods 80 words
The trees were old and their voices creaked with the years. Still they sang to each other. They sung the sky down into their branches and whispered the wind between their trunks. From the hoary grasp of winter's cold claws, their roots pulled up the babe of spring blossoms and buds. When summer sun breathed down the exposed necks of hikers, the trees would spill forth shade and bleed cool air. And on through it all, still they sang, ancient.
Beautiful!
Now then, Miguel. I am getting the distinct impression you are totally taunting me with this prompt 'woods'. I mean, how can I avoid doing a golf-related thing with that prompt, of all prompts?
Well, far be it from me to disappoint.
However - and I'm sure neither your good self nor anyone else will mind, but I just had to go horribly over par again. 232 over par, to be exact.
Anyway, here we go with the next thrilling instalment of Golf Shtick. Our heroes really are in a spot of bother here, and Ruby is about to get deaded, again... Unless...
---
Ruby’s eyes began to glass over. She could see her Larry’s valiant quest to slashie a mashie-niblick pathway through the demonic throng to reach her.
But she knew it was no use. He wouldn’t make it.
She readied herself to give up the ghost.
Meanwhile, in the clubhouse, Felson continued hesitating.
He was a caddy, after all. What did he know about swinging a magical mashie?
As fate would have it, dearest reader, at that very moment, back in your living world, America’s most famous golfer was suddenly felled by a freak golfing accident, involving his bitter rival, a seven iron (they don’t call it a mashie-niblick no more, remember), and a Penfold 57.
It’s always a Penfold 57. Legend has it, that’s the one that grants you entry into this specific golfing heaven.
And guess what? Yeah, he died with a 3-wood in his paws.
He thought he’d died – well, he had – he thought it was the end.
But now he opens those sharp eyes to find himself amidst a hellish scene surrounded by demons and – yeah, fellow golfers. The only kind of folks who ever truly loved him in his world.
And right there before him, a woman is being horribly fouled by a foul beast.
Well, that won’t do. Oh no.
You would’ve thought, wouldn’t you, that cold iron would be perfect for felling demons?
But not in this specific plane of the Underworld. Oh no. Here, it’s woods that do the trick.
And this one, yeah – he’s got the eye of the tiger.
He’s got soul.
He swings.
He connects. Perfectly.
The demon fractures into a thousand little shards.
Ruby gasps, turns to face her saviour.
“Hey,” she gasps again, “ain’t you…?”
He grins. And doffs his cap.
“Uh-huh. Tiger Woods, ma’am. At your service.”
She grins.
He grins. Readies for another demon-felling strike.
“Now watch this drive…”
Mr. Woods is having fun! And he saved Ruby, too! Great story! But isn't Tiger Woods still alive?
Tiger Woods still alive? Are you sure…? 😉
No, not really. I've never met him. But he probably would enjoy reading about his legendary exploits in the Mashie Niblick afterlife. 😁
Thought it was about time I introduced a celebrity into their midst…
80mg of the Woods
overdosed by one
I kept staring at the trees—one at a time—like they each had the answer. Maybe they did. Five years of squinting, pondering, decoding bark patterns, left me missing the joke: the woods. Right there. All along. Massive, mysterious, messy. And me? A philosopher with a magnifying glass. Turns out, enlightenment isn’t always lightning—it’s laughter. The woods weren’t hiding. I was. Now, I walk slower. Eyes open. Trees still speak, sure—but now the woods sing, too. Eighty milligrams of perspective: taken daily.
Ugh that was supposed to be a reply to Jeannine.
It's okay, I found it...