Last week I decided I was becoming stale – the worst obstacle to creativity after writer’s block. Having blitzed Children of the Vines and gone through the intensive process of publication, I resolved to put novel #3 in the trilogy on the back burner. Fine! This relieved some of the pressure. I’d identified the reason … More Poetry & Prose
I am the Gatekeeper But not the gate I bid you welcome, reassure you: “You are in the right place”. I am the Guide But not the journey. The path you take Belongs to you, alone. I do not lead But neither do I follow. We walk together, Companions on the road
Morning walk Silent streets The Universe watches the world through my eyes * * * * *
A littoral meditation. Birds wheeling Breakers.crashing Foam hissing, Sky reflections At my feet a puffer fish, Shriveled by the sun, Rests beside a shapely stone Still life set in sand. Pebbles strewn by ebbing tide holes where tiny sand crabs hide Seaweed fronds Driftwood dragon Footprints in the sand. * * * * *
It has been quite some time since I blogged, travel and the holiday season having claimed my attention. Among the many photographs I have taken recently (photography being my latest obsession), sunsets have given me the most pleasure. There is something about the transcendent colours, the illuminated clouds, and the restful sense that day is … More Sunsets
It’s been a little while since I blogged. As a matter of fact, I’m in a holding pattern at the moment, poised on the edge of I know-not-what. I’m making a bit of jewellery, fiddling about with sketch pads and adding notes to the outline of my next novel, but there is no defined path, … More Waiting
Late summer blooms, cascading colour, drunken bees.
The world is silent, yet I hear sporadic twittering of birds. distant echo of the Sydney train – warning whistle blasts, the officious clattering of rails. Meaning is everywhere, each mote a swirling cosmos. A sudden flash of sunlight gilds the leaves outside my window Weeping cherry laughing at the dawn.
Autumn – my garden HOMECOMING How strange it is coming home to oneself after all this time. to find that there is time enough and more to do the things I love having first relinquished the requirement to achieve. the richness of days – not worrying how many may remain – each hour full of … More Poetry