Musings, journeys, adventures
As a quieter person, I sometimes find my thoughts moving more slowly than the conversation around me. This little poem is a reflection on those moments, and on the memory of my dad, who had a quiet way of listening that made space for my voice.
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This is where I did most of my degree: an old corner desk that was never really designed for handwritten notes, but which I gradually turned into a small command centre.
Continue ReadingThis little poem came from finding a gecko beside the back door one morning. It was so perfectly still, and so firmly attached to the wall, that even after I realised it had died I kept half-expecting it to suddenly spring back to life and run away.
Continue ReadingAt the beginning of 2024, I was still finding my way through the loss of my dad. Somehow, in the middle of that grief, I had finished my studies. With that chapter closed, I found myself clearing space, letting go of what no longer felt right and trying to work out what might come next.
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The death of Sinéad O’Connor sent me back to her music. She was part of my generation – Generation X – and listening again, I found myself thinking about why we were so often described as angry.
Continue ReadingThis poem is about losing my dad, and the regret that comes with looking back.
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Rosie came to us at a time when the house felt very empty. She needed a home, and we needed a dog to love.
Continue ReadingSpook and Ebony had shared so many years with us that saying goodbye to them was heartbreaking. In the end, letting them go together was the last kindness we could give them.
Continue ReadingJo was sitting in her garden when I arrived so I joined her. It was lovely in the sun, sitting quietly and chatting together.
Continue ReadingSunday was book sorting day at Jo’s place. Jo has occasionally stated that she may become a book collector. I think that she already is a book collector, she just hasn’t specialised in a particular area.
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