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Shells line the shore, empty waiting to catch a child’s eye, to be rearranged into shapes and swirls of imagination, the click of the empty whelk homes amidst the chattering. And the sheltering sand creeps into every gap it can find. — Laughter spills over to spread delight to the racing waters that threaten the… Continue reading Summer

Are you a speck of light in the darkness? A tiny candle flame down an endless tunnel?  Warmth in a cold place? A broken brick in a wall?  A kind word in a disaster? A touch when we are full of fear? A foot step on a lonely road?  A thought in my depression? An… Continue reading A Still Small Voice

Tarnished shells of tragedy and sorrow, burnt out buildings and long snout guns, stand against the hideousness of violence and the cult of war. Children flung from cowering to funerals, parents arms empty, people without homes, empty plates and emptier eyes hollowed by pain, and the cult of war. Trampled plants and the trembling of… Continue reading The Cult of War.

—- Are you a speck of light in the darkness? A tiny candle flame down an endless tunnel?  Warmth in a cold place? A broken brick in a wall?  A kind word in a disaster? A touch when we are full of fear? A foot step on a lonely road?  A thought in my depression?… Continue reading The Still Small Voice?

There is a drawing I did as a child of clouds  round and white, and then I began to see their silent majesty. — Today, they’re greys and whites, tracked with tractor tyres and old bones softened with pastels and sheep’s wool. —- They make no sound as they trail across the sky, quietly changing… Continue reading Clouds of Grace

Covid exhausts, the government exhausts the climate exhausts where then is the grace? We are not alone. Everything has a cause. We are like a sea tossed ship, that has forgotten there is land.

I feel as though the horror and violence  waging wars around make no sense. —— How can we believe its right today to hurt a child or blast them away? —— Where is the sense or rationale? It’s archaic, cruel, a foul bad tale. —– Is there a place where children play? A timeless point,… Continue reading Is life real?

Tarnished shells of tragedy and sorrow, burnt out buildings and long snout guns, stand against the hideousness of violence and the cult of war. ——- Children flung from cowering to funerals, parents arms empty, people without homes, empty plates and emptier eyes hollowed by pain, and the cult of war. —— Trampled plants and the… Continue reading The Cult of War

It chilled my soul, cos I could see their goal, dominating women, and then, push them into dark corners make their lives more onerous beat them black and blue tell them what to do, while they gloat and glower and boasting of their power boiling their own souls. ———- It chilled my soul, cos I… Continue reading God is listening!

Motionless but for a revolving head, waiting  palely, a faint outline in the brooding darkness suddenly rends the air with a psycho scream,  penetrating, threatening.  ——   A ghostly flight as it sweeps the ground waiting silently, a sentinel of the dying light, seeking the future through scampering feet, blood for a scavenger’s brood. ——/ White against the… Continue reading The Barn Owl