How come when it rains, you can never get a bus home? 

Cold and wet, the heavy tread of a flyer denied the air to fly. 

Like an insect Thunderbird waiting to lift off. 

The downside of uncover work, was not lost on Dave. 

Time's winged guardians look over the remains of man's history. 

On almost invisible threads, she sits and waits. 

Tommy the woodlice discovering his eyes were indeed bigger than his tummy. 

Across the forest floor, the line held firm as they awaited the coming battle. 

Like elders in old wives tales, they met in secret in the woods and told tales of what once was and of what is yet to be. 

The secret of making a little black number work? Add a splash of colour. 

Like a golden moth dressed with silk for the glory of the sun. 

Work done, now resting. 

As one fell, another stepped forward to fill their place. Unsung warriors that no poet of old would ever sing their praises, passing un-noticed in history. 

In a castle built in the air, the damsel waiting with a sting in her tale for the lost traveller. 

The end result of an insect attack. 

Disguising itself with chocolate flakes turned out not to be the best idea Fred had thought of. 

Like a tumbling river over rocks, the fungi spread across the forest floor. 

The underworld police spies look on as they suspect walks away. 

Lady's day at Ascot. 

Melting back into the earth. 

Fallen, death's wedding gown bringing new life to the earth. 

Trevor's impression of a rolling stone gathering no moss ran into a slight problem. 

In the smallest of lakes, the vastness of nature can be seen reflected. 

At their end, the glory of their life is reflected in their colours fading into the soil. 

Slowly rising. the build up of new lifewithin the last grasp of the old, breaks through the layers of the earth.