"You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves" from the Wild Geese by Mary Oliver With thanks to Grace . . .
Mid-summer
In Midsummer now brightest green and lush lasting only moments counting every one through one half shut eye land bathed in light still promising so many balmy days ahead . . .
~In the Dreamtime~
A Kamilaroi story tells of a magnificent male Kangaroo, so overtaken by the dancing of the locals that he joined the circle and danced a special dance that is still celebrated today. The Dreaming of Aboriginal Australia, ed Jean A Ellis, 2006 I am . . .
~ Mementos ~
I'm in Micky Macs place. It's been disturbed by party goers, doors open to the yard, a gentle sea breeze blowing through windows, cracked and broken. I once visited him here in his smokey room, walls blackened from the wood fire. I sat on a settle bed in a wollen blanket while he sat . . .
~ Purple ~
~ Passionate today about intoxicating PURPLE that's all~ . . .
~Myths, ransom and limits~
There's a bit of a warrior queen in me that wants to protect my creative space. If I could make a moat of distance between me and the world I would do it. Barricading myself into a turret room and staying there for as long as it took or until I was thoroughly weary of it. I also know that no . . .
Dublin, time to forgive and forget…….
Dublin, a series of small villages linked by canals, bridges and some tree lined Dublin suburbs. Downhill into town, uphill home in the evenings. From here, the Dublin Mountains are a snowy backdrop behind the clock tower and the glistening dome of the church in Rathmines. From . . .
Her labour
Her labour Salty finger tips cling to aching wrist. Pumping elbows, hang from cliff hanger shoulders. Taut chords strangle the hardened neck. Delivering a weighty head through brain blowing tedium. Leaves tangle and soak her skin. Cool on . . .
Listening to voices
I am on the move and missing those walks on the lane. From life on the road, the midlands of Ireland open like a golden tablecloth waiting to be laid for Spring. Crumpled, layered, deep. The dark trees are silhouettes now, solid and strong. They open conversations with the . . .
An encounter with a dragon
I crashed into the week with news of an unexpected piece of work which was urgently required but at the very same time an old slain dragon (one I thought had long been put to bed) suddenly erupted into fiery form and whacked me over the head with it's . . .
