The road is lined with cherry blossoms. Pink princesses waving me onward. I allow the petals to drift, swift into the open window of my car (the one with the engine light I ignore). They scatter so pretty, settling upon the dusty signs of a car full of life: dead skin and fragments of bitten … Continue reading Scatter so pretty
There is glitter in my bath water. A nebula of healing, medicine and feeling. It greets me like a childhood home, invites me to breathe along with the swirls and the ripples I make because my heart is still beating and I can wiggle my fingers and toes. It settles into the lines in my … Continue reading Painted gold
It’s Spring, dandelion season so the fairies lift and slip through the air carrying wishes and sneezes in their pockets. A couple walk palm distance apart laughing into the breeze and into each other’s hearts, smiling young love as the fairies flies past. An old man, all in black, leans against a railing in … Continue reading Dandelion Season
Naming beach huts is an art form; forget the colour you want to paint it, name it with a legacy in mind. A morning walk isn’t a morning walk until at least five people walking their dogs say, Good morning. If the thought You should wear a hat crosses your mind before you leave the … Continue reading Ten Things
She paid more attention to bird song this week. She heard it at six am and how it had changed by nine. She heard it in the car park after work, she heard it in the trees outside. She heard it at night when she was running a bath. She does not know which … Continue reading She Listened
I like listening to the rain and watching the warm street lamp glow melt into the window frame. Sometimes I hear footsteps too, the distant rumble of traffic and the echoes of birds. I can see the chimney of my neighbour’s house and I can see a magpie or pigeon (they visit most frequently) has … Continue reading Chimney Grass
Small and feral. Green knees and knotty hair, Nanny’s little devil; bumbling without a care along the concrete stones with mossy edges and busy ant homes. How she longed to be feather light, paper transparent and magical within and without. To blink and merge with vivid climbers scaling varnished heights. Her tissue paper skin grazed … Continue reading The Fairy Garden
At the beginning of twenty eighteen, I used a jigsaw metaphor to describe how complete and incomplete I felt. Upon reading this, my Mother said, ‘You know you never find all of the pieces of the jigsaw, right?’ I rolled my eyes, said ‘I know’ when really I was adamant it wasn’t true at all. … Continue reading Age 24
One Boxing Day I wrote about a father and son visiting a grave. I hoped with my words I could manifest enough love or tape to fix the hurt they no doubt felt. Since then, I’ve learnt the holes in human hearts cannot be darned like socks. The holes we make are not always perfect … Continue reading Without Strings
After failing to heed my therapist’s advice not to open them all at once, I stopped. I cleared away the mess ‘Friendship’, ‘Love’ and ‘Work’ had made and left ‘Childhood’ on the table. It stayed like that for days; like a baby elephant in the room with all of the gold edges becoming unstuck. A … Continue reading Four Boxes: Childhood
