I’ll stick to night
It would be more romantic to keep staring at it, late at night, when most of the world is asleep; not to ever reacquaint myself to its dull campsites or experience adult day-time disappointment
I’ll stick to night Read More »
Memory
The filter of time
On her rising and dropping vowels, I’m carried in a soft embrace. I’m an infant laid down by their parent onto newly washed sheets; into a mid-afternoon sleep.
The filter of time Read More »
75 years ago (and what suffering might teach us)
I hope this is one lesson we can all learn not just in the midst of this pandemic, but 75 years after Hitler died and 75 short years after (we thought) Nazism did too.
75 years ago (and what suffering might teach us) Read More »
The funeral home’s jingle
On a personal level, the absurd brings moments of light relief amidst the gnawing frustration and deep desire to escape
The funeral home’s jingle Read More »
She who roams by the cemetery
I don’t know whether the woman who roams by the cemetery is Romany, but she is very much lost.
She who roams by the cemetery Read More »
The world is a narrow bridge
We quickly clambered on board, punched the holes in our tickets and waved goodbye, the salmon-pink sunset enveloping his family as they faded into the distance.
The world is a narrow bridge Read More »
The blessing of the stork
Driving here helps me to forget. I know the route well, with its curves and canyons.
The blessing of the stork Read More »
When the world sends symbols. Or you just start paying attention.
Strange things have been happening. Not so strange I feel like I need to call Peter Venkman, Raymond Stantz and Egon Spengler (not forgetting Winston Zeddemore). But, still, strange enough to make me sit up.
When the world sends symbols. Or you just start paying attention. Read More »
A few of my favourite things
We all deserve a bit of what we fancy. I am not Maria from the Sound of Music. But I appeal to you: always remember your favourite things. Indulge in them. Even if only just for a bit.
A few of my favourite things Read More »
75 years. We remember.
I never want to forget. For memorising is a fluid act. International acts of memorising the dead can wither on the vine. Memories are so malleable. We owe it six million not to let ours’ be nearly so fragile.
75 years. We remember. Read More »