brookecutler2

  • Today

    I have found myself, today. Once again I am everything I am. I am the passionate stroke of theatre, and the softest touch of poetry. My colours are pastel: peach and mauve, whimsical tendrils and earthy wooden grain. I am… Continue reading

  • Still I Dream

    With these soft eyes, I turn to the angry mob and I speak. I tell them to leave me be. I tell them I want no part in the way they raise their swords and bring each other down. I… Continue reading

  • The Web

    It is beautiful, I think, to be a very small thread on the web of it all. Continue reading

  • One

    Here we are, world. Another day of co-creation. I do not own you. You do not own me. And yet we are one becoming many through each moment, each hour, each breath held or released in the face of it… Continue reading

  • At Five

    Sometimes I feel five. Like the world is big and I am small. And there are kids all around bigger than me, louder, scarier, bolder than this softness that folds me like tissue. (No one else folds like tissue. Just… Continue reading

  • I Am Loved

    There you are behind a soft, uncertain smile, surprised that you are loved. You are loved. It is your expectation that has made it seem not so. You see the world and ask it to hold you as you wish… Continue reading

  • Little Light

    What colour shall I paint my sky? Soft-pink and grey: clouds of spun sugar, sweet dreams that drift me to life? Bring me a cool breath of clarity. Bring me a little light, and I will shine it, wherever I… Continue reading

  • Relative Darkness

    I’m sitting in the relative darkness and life is happening, all around. In the bedrooms, my children are sleeping. In the branches, possums are creeping across the night. There are bugs out the window by the thousands, spiders spinning elaborate… Continue reading

  • Beautiful People

    To my beautiful people. I miss you. Like a lost piece of my soul, I miss you. Continue reading

  • Thinking

    It’s an odd spot I find myself in. This middle land of bloggy days. This creative world of half-begun. These are the things that I know: I know I love the freedom of this blog: it doesn’t feel right to… Continue reading