Sunday, 4 March 2018


a weekend of birthday celebrations & people,
walks in a wintry landscape by the sea,
moments of quiet with a book.
it's march but winter's hanging in there,
yet it's lost its grip.
daylight lingers,
lightness inside pushes through.

i've been immersed in the words of Ali Smith,
she reignited a passion to read
that's been on a backburner for a bit. 
words like these in her book Winter,
(which I couldn't put down
despite a desire to savour,
so the only option was to read each word slowly):

“What he longs for instead, 
as he sits at the food-strewn table, 
is winter, winter itself. 
He wants the essentiality of winter, 
not this half-season grey selfsameness. 
He wants real winter where woods are sheathed in snow, 
trees emphatic with its white, 
their bareness shining and enhanced because of it, 
the ground underfoot snow-covered as if with frozen feathers 
or shredded cloud but streaked with gold through the trees from low winter sun, 
and at the end of the barely discernible track, 
along the dip in the snow that indicates a muffled path between the trees, 
the view and the woods opening to a light 
that’s itself untrodden, 
never been blemished, 
wide like an expanse of snow-sea, 
above it more snow promised, 
waiting its time in the blank of the sky.” 

i've cleared my diary for next week
 to give my joint venture the attention it craves right now.
things are exciting on the work front on so many levels
that sometimes it's a littly tricky to swith off.
but i'm learning
& loving the balance. 

wishing you a lovely Sunday evening
& light-filled week ahead. 



  1. Le bonheur chez toi, Rebecca. C'est tout.
    Muchos besos

  2. Merci beaucoup chère Nines
    – and lots of love to beautiful Sevilla...


It makes me happy
when you leave a trace

- whether it's a single word
or you scribble all over.


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