I didn't mean for such a long time to pass since my last post here. Lately my writing has been quiet and small as I work on revising Deep in the Far Away; tinkering with words, with tone, reknotting the loose weave of the serial - it creates a macro focus in my mind from which it's hard to shift. So mostly my social media writing these days has involved tiny poems at instagram and on twitter.
To be honest though, quiet and small is where I am most comfortable anyway. I think there must be nothing lovelier than the peace of a garden, of a small green view, with little more to trouble you than too-short library loan periods & what to do about the caterpillars amongst your tomato plants. I've been thinking for a while now about how peace has become a luxury in this world, something it seems at times, and in some places, only the rich can afford. Even the peace of childhood - rambling barefoot through nature, not knowing how your mother got food to the table, reading adventure stories that lit up your heart - is a thing of the past for many families. And then, how many of us find peace only to have it destroyed by selfish loud neighbours?
I could write for hours about how selfishness, greed, and consumerism destroy the simplest hopes of far too many people. But it's probably better to instead give what I can of loveliness and peace.
The undersong of the landscape
30 Days Wild
Tea With Mrs Mourning Dove
Digging deep reveals the intricate world of roots
Michicant by Mree