I think some of us are very fragile people, pretending to be big and strong and some of us are very brave people, pretending to be small and helpless. Only I’m not sure which one I am.
I want to bottle the scent of freesias and give it to you, all my childhood picnics in an amber vial. That you may never be lonely in winter or forget the honeysuckle spring. I know it’s a big bad world out there but there is a paradise as well, a patch of blue sky [...]
Everything is slow this morning, making me wait. Even the keys of the keyboard can’t keep up with my fingers. I want them to go faster, tick tock, like the clock. Honey on my fingertips from little bear’s porridge makes them stick, all covered in dust.
Sleep in the corner of my eyes forms wax [...]
She doesn’t care enough and yet she cares too much, about the wrong things. Fickle fascination, winter hibernation, what is she so afraid of that she must shapeshift like this. Is it so hard to be one thing, just one thing for all of your days. She is scared of moths, she who hides in [...]
The Narcissus are blooming. Little gold faced saints gazing at their own reflections. They are cruel to their lovers who pine away unto Echoes on the wind. Most beautiful things are a little sad really.
I think the year should start in September, when the freesias open and bloom. The sun is grinning again but the nights still bite my toes. It is the season for birthdays.
(Of course it’s still July and I have to make do with african daisies.)
She loved too many things, that was her problem, and they didn’t always love her back. Some times they would run away, like the field mouse she kept in her pocket for two whole weeks. Others would slip softly in to the realms of forget-me-so, where ballet shoes and half empty diaries collected dust bunnies [...]
Today was a dream of blue skies and pages and tiny sweet strawberries. It seemed to hurry along like good days do, but I found some of the blessed slowness that I have been looking for in there somewhere. Morning was a walk to the library for Cassandra (which I’ve been needing to read lately) [...]
In the morning I found a cold silver bell, dripping dew, in my garden. Left behind by midnight revellers, it was caught on a vine and played a silken melody to the wind. I picked it like a tiny argent pear. I shall wear it on my charm bracelet and use it to catch Their [...]
