sharing small stories
Spring ‘To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus. The smell of the earth is good. It
The End Of March ‘It was cold and windy, scarcely the day to take a walk on that long beach Everything was withdrawn as far as possible, indrawn: the tide far out, the ocean shrunken, seabirds in ones or twos. The rackety, icy, offshore wind numbed our faces on one side; disrupted the formation of
The first months of the year have flown by and thanks to a broken laptop (never keep your cuppa near your laptop, folks!), writing deadlines and a couple of snow days, I’ve been unusually remiss with my The Year In Books blog posts. Still, less time on the laptop has meant more time with my
