Hope Street

She arrived at Hope Street, smiling She left that Place, shamed The white man trigger, fired ‘If it was up to him’ he’d said ‘He wouldn’t let her in ‘ No one looking out, for her ( or anyone else ? ) No understanding eyes On a reactive path Set up to fail The white

La Herradura

Why I didn’t take photos of the place, I really don’t know. The scattered upturned chairs, unswept leaf ridden place did not resemble the ‘Boutique Hotel’ photos. There was just a phone number on the locked doors that I couldn’t access because the phone connection that was promised in the UK, was not working. I

Triumph

To be fully human is to experience vulnerability. To take what is difficult and challenging and transmute it into art is the mark of triumph.

Ψυχή – Soul

Tender hearted. Cabbage heart, a strawberry heart. A whole heart loving and true. My heart. That beats like a drum a with a walking beat. Erika Badu. We listened to her songs, a couple of them, whilst sitting on the log under the trees with the moon shining through the bare branches. The sky was

Save the Day

Walking – Thinking – Walking – Thinking Each step walk, each step think. a walking meditation, excercising the muladhara, Connecting with earth and soft mud. Avoiding the squelchy parts that have been invaded and trampled over. Grassy verges have turned grey brown, new paths forged. Smooth flattened earth. A flash of dusty pink, a jay

Words

Some words enter the world in a straightforward manner, some struggle to get here. Words pulled reluctantly or pushed forward across the page, to the edge, over the edge. Plunging down , descending into a shiny blurry world ,the pressure and noise all enveloping, then the upward rise, up, up, breaking through the surface gasping

Responsibility

What do you want to do when you grow up ? The time when you, overnight, are different, a fully formed adult, able to take care of yourself, be responsible for your day to day affairs and choices. Are you still expecting to grow up? Or do you feel grown? Taking a few moments and

Burn

‘Highland Mystery’ solved the crime of the missing horse. It was the book I put into the metal bowl and set fire to. A whiff of the time and place where I had written it, caught in the air and caught me me off guard. It didn’t burn completely through in one pass. It had

A proper place in space and time

Moving house unceremoniously from one to the next, no goodbyes, no party, no ritual or farewell as far as I can remember, nor any backward glances. I do wonder why Mum needed to move so frequently. It’s almost as if she was on the run and given my desire for escape to turquoise seas, I