Tiny Stories

It is 1980, and I am sitting in the picture theatre with two excited young boys, a mystical blend of their Welsh mother and Indian father. They are my charges, and in the darkened room, the smell of popcorn wafting around us, the music begins. Words start to float away from us on the huge screen, already iconic and highly anticipated. Leaving our once plush red seats, we are transported into outer space, enough familiarity to make this real, to identify heroes and the enemy, good and evil. Later, in the brilliant sunshine, we fight with light sabres, we deepen our voices, we build the Death Star. We are hooked. I am back in the city, 40 years of living separating me from the movie. For once, the cat hasn’t woken me, but it is the witching hour, 4:00 am. My powers are many, but I am not a witch. The scales in the Netherlands, the home of my children’s ancestors, proving that I am without sorcery. I part the curtains, the still night offering a glimpse of the skies above. I push the wind...

On a thoughtful Thursday afternoon, I am grateful for:  A cat to pat   An afternoon nap   The Stuff Quiz - twice a day, or legitimate binge if I’ve missed a couple   My meditation stool (even though I rarely sit on it, I love the concept, the design, the form, the discipline)   My lemon lime dracenas … and all the babies I’ve propagated and gifted to friends and family   The Canon Prime 100mm macro lens, you will always be my favourite, I can love no other   Creating - even if it’s just lists like this (thank you Austin Kleon for the inspiration today)   Water - to drink, wash in, cook with, swim in, sprinkle on the garden   My Kindle Highlights, a library of the best bits and a source of inspiration for my ceremonies   Summer fruit, the stones robbed of all their succulent flesh    

The bird is tucked hard up into the corner of my house, and I know straight away it is dead, murdered by a night-wandering cat. I reach down, and gently pick it up, nestling its feather-weight in my hand, as the tears begin to fall. It is evening, and I hear tapping outside the window. I quietly open the window, as the setting sun streams into my house, dust motes floating on the cooling air. It is then I see it, camouflaged against the stones, a baby thrush searching for snails under the pittosporums. I throw a tiny piece of bread, a peace offering, my cat securely locked inside. I am re-reading What Remains , the debut novel by Aussie writer, academic and international traveller, Denise Leith. A love story interspersed with war and conflict and the unimaginable things that we humans do to each other in the name of race or creed or politics. It is strangely compelling and deeply disturbing. Last time, I read the stories with distance, my own troubles seemingly large. This time … this ...

I share Austin Kleon’s post, 100 things that made my year , and one person challenges me to write my own, and encourage others to do the same. But I like Austin (from Austin) - he’s young (it’s relative!) and playful and bold and scared and real. His ezine and posts have kept me going this last year, as I pledge to create a habit, a habit of creativity . Never one to let a challenge go by, or follow the rules (100 is overwhelming), I start writing, and generate a list. So here, in no particular order, are 27 things that made my year in 2021. Twenty seven into 21 - that's 1.285... Bunnie: notoriously hard to photograph but fun to try. Being bold enough to ask for a piece of art in exchange for a funeral, the heavy cast bunny a tribute to a special woman, a kindred soul who left too soon. And - as if it comes with a bonus - the forging of a friendship with her long-time friend, another who makes the journey far from home, and needs company and time to build shared memories. Walking t...