currently querying: The Light at the End of the World

N is for North: a poem

On Spring, North of 60 The seeking rays of the sun, golden in the perfect clearness of the returning morning light have found the hippy-heart crystals in my window and are casting rainbows of colour onto my walls and kitchen floor, causing the cat to dance madly from spark to …

Sunday Morning Sunshine

The sun has come out after a showery Sunday morning and I have taken my handwork onto the deck. The air smells of wet wood, soil and lake water. Quiet and still, I hear a gull calling in the distance. The campers in the campground next door have not yet …