Writing

  • 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

  • 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

  • The Novel

    Two years ago, before the universe exploded everything around me, I began two very writerly things. One thing was this blog (and what an absolute gift this place has been to me. Writing and a beautiful little band of friends… Continue reading

  • The Lolly Shop on Hope Street

    The little boy followed the balloon through the Summer streets. He knew nothing of the balloon except that it was red and tied with a glistening blue string: and that he must follow it, wherever the wind might float it.… Continue reading

  • A Great Land

    I have lived in a great land beyond time, beyond name beyond here. Where the sun kissed my soul morning and night, and my days were surrounded by honey pink flowers and tangerine trees. Sometimes, I try to forget about… Continue reading

  • Flight

    Her flight was sweet. And every bit as magical as the hummingbird sipping honeysuckle beside her. Continue reading

  • On Writing

    I write a lot about real life events. Sometimes I connect to fantasy and spin a beautiful story from worlds that don’t exist, but often I write from a place deep within. A place of memory, but more than that.… Continue reading

  • Brave

    I’m feeling such a tender ache within me, this morning. The aching quiet, I call it, this softness. This knowing of connection between humans and life, between humans and other humans. Tenderness — more specifically, sitting within the depths of… Continue reading

  • Perfect Mirrors

    Sun and Moon sat beneath the willow tree, a picnic for two: a beautiful picture of one. Moon shining white on the river. Sun splaying gold on the rippling blue. ‘I miss you, Moon,’ said Sun, as he sipped tea… Continue reading