Writing

  • For Now

    In a world of fire, I am the stream. Peace. My heart wants nothing more, my soul wants nothing less. I am tired. So tired of the saddest story: well meaning fighters, fighting for good, creating the worst kind of… Continue reading

  • Somewhere

    Somewhere between the quiet and the haze, I go to sit for a while. Somewhere between the quiet and the haze. And you might ask me what I hope to find there. You might ask me if it’s true. That… Continue reading

  • Sitting Up Here

    Maybe I’m sitting in a tree, somewhere, looking down at it all. I’m sure my feet are dangling, and I’m probably whistling in harmony with the wind through the branches. What do I see when I look down at my… Continue reading

  • Magical Questions

    Where do thoughts go once we have thought them? Where does the wind go once the storm has passed? And why do so few wonder about life, why do they not ask more magical questions? Like where do thoughts go?… Continue reading

  • Escaping

    I never did stop escaping. A sensitive little girl, a face and a voice unkind: I escaped. I never did stop escaping. * I am safe and loved in this place in the sky. I am safe. And I am… Continue reading

  • Until They Remembered

    Sun fell upon the rocky shore, gazing at the children that played by the rock pools. Some of the children splashed. Some worked quietly together, laying stone upon stone until they’d made a grand and sparkling tower. Other children jumped… Continue reading

  • Some Days I Fall

    Some days I fall. I’m not a good mum. I’m not a good human. I’m not a good me, on those days I fall. It’s not a consolation to know that I do not fall alone. That humanity itself is… Continue reading

  • We Are The Poets

    We are the poets. The ones who listen to the bones of the earth. The ones who feel the wind, who know the wind, who are the wind. The bridge to the aching quiet. We build it and we travel… Continue reading

  • How Is A Rose To Grow?

    A rose to meet the morning bright, to grow in cheer, to gather life. Yet day to day the rose does wither, day to day the rose does wither, lost beneath the foggy dreary. Lost. Beneath. How is a rose… 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