Sometimes it seems you’re stuck in a place or a situation and can’t get out. There don’t seem to be any doors to open onto new possibilities and there don’t seem to be any windows, either, to cast any light on the situation.
It’s all brick walls.
But I was brought up in a London suburb, in an area where all the houses were built of red brick, so bricks remind me of home.
Continue reading “brick walls”
I’ve never really celebrated Father’s Day. I don’t think anyone did when I was a small child and then, when it became more well-known in the UK, it was considered an American import and looked down on by my parents’ generation. Now, though, it’s almost impossible to ignore. Even when email newsletters offer the chance to opt out of Father’s Day updates, it seeps through on social media, in the news, and in shelves stacked with bottles at the supermarket.
Continue reading “father’s day gift”
Yesterday, for reasons that I won’t go into here, I was thinking about things I am grateful for. It turns out I am grateful for many many things. Including the fact that I have a tendency towards optimism and gratitude.
Indeed, there are so many things I should give thanks for that it’s hard to know where to begin. So I decided that I’d skim through the colours of the rainbow and see what were the first things that came to mind.
Continue reading “gratitude rainbow”
Yesterday I looked at different shades of blue and purple and the impossibility of marking a dividing point between them.
Today the flowers I have chosen are more on the redder side of purple, and are all examples of scabious. At least, I think that’s what they are, although I’m always slightly concerned about naming plants here as I am no expert and I’d hate for anyone to be misled because they trusted either my memory or my Google-fu.
Continue reading “tangential memories”
What’s the point of having a blog if you don’t allow yourself a little self-indulgence occasionally?
The poem included below was written over twenty years ago; I think it was published last century in Roundhouse, a Welsh poetry magazine. I’m not sure if the magazine still exists or if it has gone the way of so many small-press print publications.
Continue reading “forget-me-not”