A Blog a Day in May

  • Mum

    And then her name was Mum. Just like that. Happy Mothers day, beautiful, Mum. I see you. And you are all the bits of magic. Lots of love, Brooke. xxx (Aka: Mum.) Continue reading

  • The Cupboard of Unfinished Things

    It happens every year. The wool balls enter the stores in preparation for winter, and my brain enters a frenzy of the most bizarre kind. You see, I’m not really a knitter. And yet, every year, as soon as the first wool… Continue reading

  • The River of Dreams

    There will always be a river, waiting, waiting for me. And I will lay me down on her sandy banks, bathing in the softness of me, dreaming all the dreams of this heart-shaped life of mine. There will always be… Continue reading

  • The Best Thing I’ve Ever Written

    I’ve just deleted it all. On purpose. Five whole paragraphs of the BEST thing I’ve EVER written. We do that sometimes—us writers of words. When ‘the force’ flies through us with alarming ease and grace, and we just know this… Continue reading

  • Not Like The Others

    There is a little girl in me who is trying to be a big kid just like the others. Just like the others. One day, I think, she’ll learn to be happy with just ‘being me.’ However different. However ‘not… Continue reading

  • Don’t Knock the Dreamers

    She bit off a giant chunk of hazelnut pancake, and ugly chewed. He raised his fork, and his eyebrow. She winked, and went on chewing loudly until her mouth was empty. ‘Don’t knock the dreamers,’ she said, then she handed… Continue reading

  • What I Am

    It’s beautiful, what I am. It’s beautiful. What I am. Continue reading

  • A Friend Of Convenience

    Her art is a friend of convenience. It absorbs her. It turns her delicate into raw and beautiful scenes of naked flesh on linen. It turns her hard into lashings of angry black with no recognisable form. The artist removes… Continue reading

  • Autumn

    I’m lounging in the sun chair, peering into the Autumn. The window’s grown cold, just like everything else around here that once was warm. It’s like we’re in a corridor. At one end: summer. At this end: winter. Maybe we’ll… Continue reading

  • Goodnight

    If I were a day you would both be my sun, sweet babies of mine sweet littlest loves. And when you were streaming from the sky of us, I would wish for the moonlight never to come. Continue reading