Bathwick. Bath. 1927. Valeria had watched the man for over a week now, and always in the early morning. From her solitary table on the balcony terrace she would first hear the gentle slap and pull of his oars working the river, then see him glide slowly in to view. Straining on the oars and … More Take Me
I count myself blessed. I may be but a window, but I am frequented. We Tuscan windows are known as ‘the eyes of buildings’. Eyes are oft known as ‘the windows to the soul’. Therefore, I count myself soulful. I am an observer of encounters: both voyeuristic and by mutual consent. A connoseur of many … More Allegedly (an imagining of what the window from ‘Much Ado about Nothing’ would say, given half the chance.
I have not always been thus. A macabre trophy. In my time I have lived many lives, and witnessed countless secrets. We handkerchiefs are confidantes. Conspirators. Carried in places that are seldom touched by others. Nestled deep in sleeves, or bound tightly to corseted bosoms. Always near the pulsing throb of life. Oh, and I … More If a handkerchief could speak. Part Two.
Her husband always sped up approaching the flower seller. A fierce impulsion drew him subtly forward. Every day on their wintry walks, with icy silence between them His gaze burned over the street, his arm stiff beneath her palm. There she stood. Fleur. Auburn locks framing her scarlet bud of a mouth. Pinafore and … More Double Take
So I’m sitting at work in the office as you do. Opening the post, answering emails and I’m bored. The April sky outside is duck egg blue and I find myself wishing I was on holiday. So I indulge my guilty pleasure. Its on my desktop favourites as ICE. A live webcam from the office … More Overt Surveillance