Inner musings of a Wayward Writer
Dear son, The wind still plays that same old note as it travels down from the mountains and sweeps over the hills. It rushes into the glen where I can hear it whistle in our roof. The walls creak from the strain of its force and the glass rattles in the window frame. One night …
Every time I see a crocus, I feel sad. So sweet and blue: it is no-one’s favourite bloom and never the crown jewel of a garden. Florists never include it in their arrangements. Few artists paint it. And rarely has there been a poem or even a limerick to honour this poor little flower. The …
There are all kinds of monsters in this world, but none of them look like the ones from storybooks and ancient tales. They aren’t quite the stuff of nightmares. Instead, they smile and nod politely when you pass them in the street. They’ll make you a cup of tea if you call in at their …
When I wake up in the morning, and that heavy black cloud hangs over me, blocking out the light, I can see the sun rising in your eyes. I breathe a little faster. My heart beats a little heavier. That cloud dissipates, broken apart by the seed of bliss you’ve planted. You juggle the stars …
Deep in a golden forest on top of an amber mountain lives a queen with violet eyes. She watches the world mournfully, waiting for its end as she sighs and drifts forever closer towards slumber. Sitting on her agate throne, she dreams of endings and loss. Golden vines creep over her, their crimson leaves fading …
It’s four in the morning at the end of June, and I find myself lying awake and listening to the words you used to say when we were younger. You called me your angel, and I never knew why, but your blue eyes used to shine so brightly every time you said those words. I …
I can hear it ticking, amplified by the silence of the room. Tick Tick Tick.
Every hour, on the hour, the tempo increases and it ticks a little faster. Tick Tick Tick. It sounds so much louder at night as all the fleshy valves and gears move inside my body, almost buzzing as my heart …
In a forest of bamboo, you can actually hear the trees growing. At first you’re not sure what it was that you heard. A rustle. A scraping noise like wood against stone. A stirring as leaves unfurl into crisp, sharp points. Bamboo can grow up to ninety-one centimetres in a single day, which is about …
Your heart has wings. Just about everyone should know this about themselves, yet so few do. Your heart has the capacity to soar beyond the sky and into the outer reaches of the atmosphere, where the temperatures drop to below freezing and Noctilucent clouds drift across the planet. It can also drop from these heights …
The sun lights up every drop of rain that plummets down to the earth. Clouds drift apart and reform. The smell is lovely as the rain evaporates under the sun from the ocean of hills before me. A thousand hills and each one is different. A million trees, each as unique as a person. A …
Writing on Tangents