Tales from the edge of the morning sky

Walking MayWalking the flower garden, this opening of spring, listening to birdsong,the wind and treesthat sing, for the sky is so blue a blessingthis May,for June is approaching and summerwill be hereFor ever and more.For Today.Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedba

Spring in the Garden of May.Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me [email protected]

Even if I…Even if the sun,I feel were blind, I would like to hold your face in the quiet of my hands, and trace just once,my fingers uponthe tributaries and streams, of the life that has becomethe beautiful you, to feel a thousand stories,journeys and emotions,joining a stream,a flow,of stars,to a riverof journeys, that I cherishin wonderthat I feel,in the musicof livingand life,

For ifthere is,truly,a Spring in winter let me drink then,deeply of your beautiful eyes to see the dawn of morning blue,for laughter is the sunlightof Marchthat rises,beautifully in the blossomof lifethat issimply beingand walking,the pathwith you.Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! An

TheyHe pulled. Felt her hand in his. Remembering her taste. Her smell. The way her body cleaved into his. His into hers.Mustiness. Earth. Wonder. Urgency.The earth crumbled around him. It matted his arms, legs and lower back. His hair. His beard. He sat up. Felt the dull ache, the throb of life to be given fill his awakening being with her. To her.She could see him now. Lifting him

February AfternoonThe sun setslong shadows,cast the distance upon the broken garden wallBut amongst the cracks,the silence,beneath the settlingdusk of late afternoon A blackbirdsings, his voicecatching my tears one by oneas softly, gently the rain beginsto fall.Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for

S(he)He was awakening. The stiffness of sleep held him tight within its arms. The winter stars were wrapped in sheathes of time about his legs and lower body. From somewhere outside of himself he could feel a growing sense of urgency. A warmth. A remembering. He needed to remember. Wanted to remember. But a great fog of darkness still held him. Whispered to him. Wanted him to remai

She (1)She was not sure when it started. A cold day perhaps. Long shadows. Early evening. She could feel in her memories the wind blow cool from the mountains around the valley. A shiver of possibilities across the lengthening dusk.Maybe it was then. When the first stars blinked across the skies, the first street lights flickered and then failed.‘Yes. Perhaps it was then,’ she

A Sleepy Summer AfternoonIt’s a lazy, sleepy afternoon, the villages are empty, flowers,in colours of summer, curtsy and nod in the baking sunlight, radiating off walls and shimmering rooftops, and, as if uplifted, a single buzzard flies and swoops overhead. It’s so warm, the distance is translated, from far and away, to the here and now: a band of light above the winding road,

She could see their forms shiver and shimmy. She stepped closer. Her self belief was not unsurprised by what she was seeing: two people bound together by time, place-and not a little love.The wind whispered again, hushing her doubts aside as she stepped closer towards them. She could see through their opaqueness: the edge of the lagoon, and the grey-blue waters still and quiet unde