The moon signifies renewal for me, and always will. I am grateful for the sun and love it dearly, but the moon is my first love. In its ever-changing, wax-waning, crescent-swelling phases it reflects all the beauty and unpredictability of life and love. No wonder then that this November moon is known as the Mourning … More The Mourning moon
In the midst of clearing my garden of autumn leaves, I discovered something. Beneath a sodden layer of leaves I found a small colony of pebbles and stones, placed in the flowerbed in spring time. Despite months of rain and dew, beneath the veiny thatch they were perfectly dry, as they were when I wrote … More Memento
I know a place so intimately that I can summon both its scent and textures. I can recall its sightest sounds, and if I focus keenly, even conjure the feel of the air that moves there. The paths and rocks are etched in to my bones, and my heart and soul pine for them. No … More The panacea of Cader Idris
Ah November. Cradle of the falling leaves. Ye countdown to Christmas with your thermostat swivelling, present squirreling, daytime dwindling…and mocks. Year 11 mocks. That time of the year when schools frighten their fifth year cohort by giving them a glimpse of what is to come. Mock GCSE exam preparation for them, and for us teachers … More Is this a mocking joke?
I adore dreams, and I crave them intensely. The combination of vividness and adrenaline they subject me to is intoxicating, and always too brief. Often though, the echo of a dream is almost as precious. In the fleeting wafts of recollection there is something precious, and all the more so because those impressions are soon … More A picture paints…
I had planned to try to write something humorous this weekend, but my subject seems asinine now. After what happened on Friday it would feel wrong. I think that Charlie Hebdo’s response of thanks is remarkable, and so I want to write about that. I always feel that it is in the worst of times … More ‘Our faith goes to Music! Kissing! Life!’
I am hopelessly addicted to water. It flows through my earliest memories and laps at my dreams as I fall asleep; commands my attention whenever I am near any, and crashes through everything else in waves. I submit to this addiction. Willingly. I even love things remotely associated with water, however tenuously. For instance, I … More Submerged