Darkness, damp nature, gnarled old trees. I'm no witch, but looking into this leafy pool, I fall under its spell. Then down onto the woody undergrowth with me. And the power of the place, the magic! The more I travel with no agenda, the more the lens captures what I'm feeling and living . . .
Six weeks have passed and I am still fairly house bound. At this stage I am crawling the four walls, that common form of cabin fever, but I think I am finally on the mend. Over the last few months I have had a stash of ripening seeds . . .
Amidst the bizarreness of the current world, I went off as happy as you like to replace my ten year driving licence which had finally expired. It's a funny experience, the Driving Licence Centre, like a cross between going to the doctor and being in custody . You sit in a small booth with . . .
For so many reasons this week I’m feeling grateful for the small things. The new generation of robins in the garden, the golden glow of an Irish autumn day, the roof over my head. Apparently practicing gratitude is fantastic for our mood and older people are especially good at it. In every study . . .
In our house, it was common enough to find girls lying down in dark rooms listening to poetry sung by an older, Canadian man. My own battered copy of Songs of Leonard Cohen, with the sad face on the front, would throb away, the soundtrack to my homework, so annoying to my father. Leonard . . .