unpack in a new house, start making yourself at home: alone, so far. live there long enough, you feel ghosts of past dwellers pass you in the hall. make your home yours, quick: the ghosts aren't graceful about letting new ones in.
leaving home in dark oh-six-hundred red, alarm clock glowing spitefully. early spring and leaves have yet to fall: still growing back in from winter. crisp leaves on the path: dilemma: which will crunch the most under my boots?
i have misplaced myself. have you seen me around somewhere? i am the shadowy figure you think you hallucinate. (mainly on a darkened evening; tea poured, the light has nothing better to do than trick you) yes, that's me - the lost wanderer skimming through cobbled rainy streets before you get the chance to remember… Continue reading NaPoWriMo 10 (misplaced)
The glass, part-filled with slightly cloudy water has sat on the nightstand for three days now. It’s becoming my own little joke – to come home and see if you’ve moved it yet. So far you haven’t, and I’ve decided to see how long it will stay there. There are still boxes everywhere, half-unpacked boxes… Continue reading Just Thursday Blog Hop: Water Glass
form meets function to provide a home for a piece of mortality.
My preferred writing environment is my room.As I type I'm curled up under a blanket, and to take the chill out of the air I've got a heater going. Music is a must-have, as I like when the words and music thread through my consciousness. Sometimes a particularly sad instrument or a poignant lyric will… Continue reading Writing Environments
When I was twelve, we'd just returned to City X after several years away. 'We' is my parents and I. I turned twelve a few months after the move, actually. My schoolmates marked the day in a fairly different way to my old school - it was very quiet. The other school had done a communal… Continue reading On Coming Home