I’m sitting here with a mug of tea in hand, simply contemplating life. The steam curls upward, carrying with it a quiet reminder that even the smallest rituals can anchor us. Today was a day off, and though I haven’t done anything particularly noteworthy, I’ve been reminding myself that sometimes the most productive thing we…
Tag: writing
The Silent Clock
Where do the years go? They slip past so quickly, and yet, when I close my eyes, I feel them near — close enough to touch, close enough to step back into. I still hear the tick-tock of my grandparents’ clock, steady and sure, marking time that I never thought would run out. I still…
Next To You
Yesterday was one of those days that start normally but end with your heart in your throat. My elderly dad had a fall. It ended well, thank God, but at the time it was frightening. The ambulance came, kind paramedics checked him over, and in the evening my brother and my husband Peter took him…
Ink from Pain
I recently joined a writing group that meets at a local church — something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. It’s become one of my favourite outings now, this gathering of minds and hearts, of stories and pens. There’s something grounding about sitting in a quiet room with others who feel compelled to…
Skip with me, nanna!
We were just walking, hand in hand, the way grandmothers and little granddaughters do. The day was mild, the sky wide and blue, and her tiny fingers wrapped around mine with the kind of trust that softens your soul. “Nanna,” she said, looking up with a grin that could melt clouds, “Would you like to…
The Day I Trembled
I stood at the gates of eternity. Not metaphorically. Not in some dreamy, poetic sense. I stood there — suspended between breath and no breath, between the beating heart and silence. Between earth… and heaven. The cord of life has always been fragile — delicate as silk, invisible as breath. Mine thinned to almost nothing….
Storyteller
My phone flashes the warning again: Storage almost full. Again. I take a lot of photos. Not for an audience. Not to curate a flawless life. I take them to gather crumbs — breadcrumbs scattered through the forest of my days. Each image a small, shining proof that I noticed. That I felt. That I…
Miss You Most
When the lilacs begin to bloom and the forest floor turns into a sea of white lily of the valley, that is when I miss you most of all. The air grows heavy with perfume, drifting through my memories like mist through birch trees — soft and persistent, quietly calling me back. When your nights…
All I Wanted
When I was a little girl and someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I never hesitated. I didn’t dream of empires or impressive careers. I simply said, “a mum.” That was all I ever wanted. Not just in name, but in the deepest, most wholehearted way. To love. To…
The Sacred Pause
To grow, we must rest. It’s a truth woven deep into the rhythm of life — so obvious in nature, yet so easily forgotten in the noise of our busy days. But the earth remembers. Even the richest soil must needs to take a break. Rest is not the end of life — it is…
Apples of Gold 