These dreamy days. The scent of meadowsweet. Foxgloves swaying in the summer breeze. Everything a tangle of lush green. I am following a whim to return to this special space. This small window on the larger world. Peace is always only temporary. But that's where things are at for now. . . .
Today I am letting you into a secret. I want to take a break from the internet. I have no idea how to do it, but it feels like a good idea. I've been blogging weekly for 6 years now. It's a fantastic discipline and has taught me a lot about just getting on and doing it. I never thought . . .
I spent two days absorbing the art at Tate Modern and Tate Britain the other week. The retrospective of David Hockney was a treat. I don't think I had ever seen an exhibition of his before. But those pictures were in all the books we read during my art college years. It was like . . .
I'm like some creature who has been released back into the wild after years of captivity. To protect myself from running around in circles and hitting my head off things, I have to take occasional deep breaths. When I do, the very air I inhale is a soothing sedative of . . .
".....let that great sweeping wind blow the fog out of her soul..." L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Green Gables) It's biting cold. Our first proper frosty morning, with a nice dollop of fog to boot. Layering up, I tip toe out into the . . .
"Breathe-in experience, breathe-out poetry." Muriel Rukeyser I'm delighted to be a Finalist in the 2016 Littlewoods Irish Blog Awards, of course I am. If you can hear a "but" coming that's because I sometimes feel a little like a square peg in a round . . .
How did rural living get to be so exciting! When I started to blog in 2011 I didn't have a plan or any idea where I might be going. In my work life I had chosen to follow an activist path rather than an artistic one. Gradually over the those years, I began returning to . . .
It was 2010, I was a bit tired and depressed about the world. The every day news seemed to reduce everything to the fact that human nature was ugly and hateful. Politics was hopeless too, having worked for social progress all my life, change seemed to happen at a snail's pace. Suicide was . . .
It's hard to stay on track with what's authentic and enriching for the soul. At times everything gets out of whack. Since our economic crash we have lived with the challenges of stagnation and lack of opportunity. We dealt with it all as best we could. But now? . . .
"As a conscious act, we document our inner and outer selves, meticulously curating the facets of our existence, both the painful and the triumphant, that we wish to leave behind in the world. And from these archives we hope that others can learn – to look inside themselves, to reconsider . . .