Sticky and raw, butterflies in ink wrestle through the green, one word or another, whose it may be has mattered littleto the author whose unperturbed conviction was it that papillon may be French,anything from the past could apply anywhere in …
Keiner konnte sie hörenWie Fische im tiefen Ozean versankenSie die Stimmen im Sturm veritas vincit, in truth This is when they dreamed they existed they happened and factually disappeared. —————————————————— I found timeor should I say sway for the cheap …
‘Why do you still bother listening to the rats in the attic, my dear? They do nothing else than chew on cardboard or old shoes’, but what she really wanted to know, what a life this may be, munching on …
Inscribed on stone for ever lasting certainty, for what cannot be erased in their eyes against the spells and evil.Who would have thought, people felt a need to hide their chants against witches in a cave. Fighting the dark within …
Casually spring awakens, with a gentle burst of buds and bird song; a woodpecker to be more precise, each morning around eight, long after the smaller birds had their breakfast and left notes on the doorstep to their feeder.It is …
First… A Happy Darwin Day to everyone! As Google teaches us this Tuesday morning, it isn’t just about this humble scientist’s achievements in life – though those of you who previously visited Darwin House on a spring afternoon get a …
Spoken of a new day, a Sunday whether there is light or dark, falling into a world well beyond our day-to-day love for routine.After ten, people don’t go to church anymore, instead they gather in small groups of four or …
Fairy tales live in me,fables coming from my memory There’s water coming out the corner… One cannot help but feel a resentful longing for the summer days and cold winter mornings by the Deal seaside, masts swaying in the wind, …
The light from a sickle moon is drawn into a downstairs room.From the outside, to the sublime to the sacred. The cracking of the radiators already gone for hours, and yet one could swear to hear a whisper in the …
There’s good reason why in the last years my only glass of whiskey in the year slips down my throat for Christmas. The many inane conversations on politics and social morality only get so far over the rest of the …
