Last night I woke at 3 a.m.
When you live on your own, 3 a.m. is about alone as alone gets.
So I lay there, in my ‘aloneness’.
At this point, staring into the darkness, the ‘lonely’ dog sat at the end of my bed. Would I feed it until it lay full and satisfied; snuggled with me under the sheets?
I knew that the weight of it would be suffocating. I knew it would be dark. As I contemplated this emotional defeat, a thought slipped into my head.
‘I am so lucky to be alone’. Read More
If I were here.
If I were here I would spend the morning steeping ground coffee over fireplace embers. I would sip a cup full of it by the window as I curled cat-like with my fingers slowly warming around the clay mug.
I would open the door to let the first light in and it would cast a gold-specked ray of dawn on the French oak floor. Read More
My hairdresser spotted it. She always does. She’s more like a scalp-savant than a hairdresser.
“Brooke, have you experienced a traumatic event recently, say, perhaps a month ago?”
Kate can read my head as a clairvoyant reads a crystal ball so I knew that there had to be some truth to her suggestion. Actually yes…
“That was when I almost died in Bali.”