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.”
Robbie was a special kid. His name wasn’t Robbie, it was Rob. But I called him Robbie affectionately because, well because he was a special kid.
He was all black skinny jeans, band shirts and bouncy blonde hair. Everyone loved Robbie. He was smart, kind and saturated in the shiny glisten of a kid on the precipice of great things. Read More
I often receive advice about how to find joy. They run the gamut from soulful to sacharrine.
But one of these gems lodged itself so firmly into my way of seeing the world that it has become a traveller through my blood. I draw on it readily, like the most recently read book in my heart’s catalogue.
It came from a smiling Vietnamese man.