Memories of a Samhain past
I put the book down and slip out from under the blanket. A postcard with the painting of a wild rose on a deep, dark background tucked between page 42 and 43.The warmth from the beginning, the child in me …
Standing still, and feeling
This is not a coincidence, or a conclusion, merely a reflection of the beginning.Strange how one can put a date to the beginning but not look far beyond what may follow. Perhaps it’s the couple of days before the winter …
When Atlas’ daughter shrugged
Reality is overrated, of course, we know. Finally home, with the first frost. The scratches of the squirrels on the window slowly died down, their claws otherwise busy. I learned preaching to the deaf is a hopeless pursuit, almost as …
The curse of genius
It’s in the essence of genius to be afraid of losing, losing authenticity;the flexibility to draw from the micro as much as the macro-cosm{ just swap an a for an i }which reflects in the eyes of the public, andcomes …
Reminiscence of the cold
The flickering in the distance must belong to the concrete factory. With its tall, dark chimneys you could only have a guess at what happens across the valley. Smoke coming out the top, everything moves slower than usual. [I was …
Lost on the moon
The foxes upon my return two nights ago impressed me. So much that, indeed, I dreamed of a fox cub, lying in the snow, almost frozen to death. I pick it up and tuck it under my jumper. I cannot …
Somewhere in a quiet village pub
In fact, the village inn of the year, there appeared a row of early twentieth century books, comical and suitable for the more light-headed reader. Following lines can be found on page fifty-four of the book on the middle shelf …
A mission almost incomprehensible
While the world outside is trying to dumb me down to their level – unsuccessful,the world inside seeks more in the warm summer evenings. Coccyx – the final vertebra – better known as tailbone –the distinction between human and ape …
Movement of change
In the light of last night, it is all about change. I clearly mark the beginning of my flows with a B in my diary. But never the ends. There would not have to be an end, if it was …
The Black Country
Is moving sideways still staying on the path? Well, thought I would ask– to make sure that a deprived thought of line could evaporate somewhere. While the old lady next door drags out her bins underneath the large pine tree, …