The Mourning moon

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

Is this a mocking joke?

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?

A picture paints…

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 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