My first memories belong to the surreal landscape of childhood. Cushioned in tenderness, they flicker a blurred reel of mango trees, mud pies and mosquito screens. Occasionally, through the fuzz, concrete moments come into focus. For me, the first of those is the imprint of a rainy afternoon in a library.
No matter how fluffy the bathrobe or late the check-out the one drawcard that never fails to entice the final digit of my CVC is a hotel with books.
Hi there fellow Write Lifers! Recently I contributed a piece to Elephant Journal and I’m excited to share it with you here. 👇🏻 https://www.elephantjournal.com/now/i-quit-reading-for-a-man/ I received lovely feedback from their editors: Thank you for putting yourself out there and sharing something that could be of benefit to many. This was beautifully written! The piece explores […]
If I were here. If I were here the morning light would be Marie-Antoinette-blue. I would push one of the cane chairs to face the other and I’d recline between them. My light grey linen dress would be trimmed in French lace and the fabric would gather around my ankles like a cloud heavy with […]