Sunday, 25 January 2015



I always hoped that winter sunlight would make me taller at the end of the day than at the beginning. Soon I'll be taller than that beach house.

Been busy with new projects with a group of people into book arts. We have quite a new blog here if you'd like to take a look.


Thursday, 15 January 2015

Wanting red in January

Heading out. Hands in pockets. The last sun of the day before the dark sweeps in too soon, so warm if you hide behind a wall, shelter and turn to face far flames. You stroll a meandering route from small patch to small patch of gritty sand, right beside the lace border of surf. You're lost in the sun glare and sea sounds, and the town's grinding turn towards rush hour might never be happening. 

You notice a red crate split open, revealing tangled red threads and nets and sea bitten red foam spilling out. The smaller pieces run up the screes of stones, a new adventure just beginning. And abandoned fish heads know the red ship, loaded with red cargo crashed to shore right here, high tide this morning. 

And the tide is lurching in, wanting to wet your shoes with every wave and your heart is pounding and you have no camera and you wanted a walk in this sun right here before dark and you feel so lucky to have this the heat on your face right now, while you have the time, in this precious break without gale lash and rain sting and bleak January skies pressing down, but the best bits of flotsam are like the sides of small houses, red cabins wrecked on shore. Drowned red haired dolls peep through their shattered doorways.

You take some pieces, turn towards home, ignore the skinny dog that runs from out of nowhere wanting the wood you carry. And you hear yourself tell it that you want it more.

Saturday, 10 January 2015

Strike action

I'm taking part in another of the Drawing challenges today. This one is number 154 and the theme is matchboxes. Thanks to Eric at Cerulean for organising. Please check out his new post today where you will find the links to the other participants.

I was taken with playing with the word strike and on these dark January days it inspired me to sit in the kitchen with glue all over my fingers while the soup bubbled away for lunch......

Strike Action

40 matchsticks are currently on strike, making a stand, lining up to encircle their box, shoulder to shoulder. Their spokesperson said - "Tired of having our heads set on fire, we have turned our backs on limited prospects and the daily threat of dangerous friction in our workplace. We refuse to be confined and demand safer working conditions."

Tuesday, 30 December 2014

Timing the river run of oranges

This is my reflection on Cerulean's latest Drawing challenge. The theme is Time and poems, photos and drawings were welcome. Mine turned out to be poetic prose and a photo. Please take a look at Eric's interesting post over at his blog today. You can also follow links to the other participants there.

Thanks to Eric for organising and for having me join.

Timing the river run of oranges

10 bells count down the final seconds of the school day, of the week, haul the lazy clock into making proper sense. Classroom doors spill students across wet fields. They race along curving suburban streets, run down tracks through sandhills, meander home into and out of salt spray mirages.

The Ten Bells. Nearest pub to school. He sinks into the glory of doing nothing, takes a gulp of beer, loosens his tie. His class had laughed all day as they checked grid references and contour lines, had sniggered while setting stopwatches to time the river run of oranges.

He hears someone tap the 10 chimes on the bar. Hard to resist when you first visit. He glances down at his feet. Mud and grass from their field trip cling to the rugged soles of his shoes, one black, one brown.


Happy New Year, everyone. Hoping 2015 brings you many creative adventures. Ax