Andy Killoran
Bio
British guy, recently retired so finally with time to read what I want and write when I want. Interested in almost everything, except maybe soccer and fishing. And golf. Oscar Wilde said golf ‘ruined a perfectly good walk’.
Stories (22/0)
Endless summers and strawberries
Summer means different things to different people, partly driven by their climate. Folk in the northern hemisphere, often struggling in a snowy December, marvel at the idea of Australians in their midsummer, in shorts and barbequing at the beach: But that's the Aussie iconic summer image.
By Andy Killoran2 years ago in Feast
Fight To Survive
A push from her powerful legs and the barn owl was airborne. Her long wings fully unfolded, and the air moved over her feathers, giving her lift and aerodynamic control. This bird, the F35 Lightning of the animal kingdom, was near-perfectly adapted for stealthy flight, for a surprise attack and to locate and kill the prey animals she sought.
By Andy Killoran2 years ago in Fiction
The Key To Her Heart
It took the coldest winter in a century for me to find out who my Dad was. I grew up in London, the only child of a single parent, my Mum. I asked about Dad from time to time, as kids will, and Mum would only say Dad had died. She never told me more and refused to discuss him. As far as I knew, we had no other relatives, either. There were always friends, and I remember lots of laughter and good company, but no family.
By Andy Killoran3 years ago in Fiction
Green Is For Go
Captain Kellaway toggled the joystick, and on the other side of the bulkhead, the camera tracked slowly from the ship's bow to the stern. There were no people visible on deck and no lights other than the vessel's own. Some waves were topped with white foam that the camera picked up, but there was mainly little to see at sea. It was four hours since the attempted hijack and kidnapping.
By Andy Killoran3 years ago in Fiction
The Flower Of The Dead
The one thing they all agreed on, afterwards, was that they had all felt something: All of them had felt a presence or touch, contact or connection. Well, everyone except Hector, who typically had not. He felt nothing and experienced nothing, but he was 12, and 12-year-old boys are not marked for their sensitivity. Hector was usually only motivated by something he could eat or with which he could play soccer. But even he was to have an unexpected experience before the day was out.
By Andy Killoran3 years ago in Fiction
Zen And The Art Of Spring Bulb Gardening
To be mindful can be described as being fully aware and open to the world around us, to be ‘in the moment’, in a non-judgemental and ideally in a relaxed and receptive frame. This name for the concept is new; the idea itself is not new.
By Andy Killoran3 years ago in Longevity
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