Trees softly strain night winds, tugging back the boughs. Back. Falling to childhood.

We are                                                lost. Found.                   Free. Full. s   a   i   s w  w  n   t  e    a         o    p    y          r     t                    m                               s.          …

I remember, at the age of four, a violent storm that blew outside like nothing else upon this earth – when I was taken near high tide to feel that force of Nature’s birth. Within the shelter of the land the trees would sway and whip and sigh, below the dark and dreary sky. Before…

Great tide. Glass water melts across the sterile fields, as land becomes sea.

We searched all day to find a Christmas tree. Our first day spent together. ~ There are fleeting moments when the whirlwind stops, and silence pours back in, just me, the cat, the tree. ~ Points of light pierce through, I find myself again in memories of you.

… The encroaching threat of occupation (Channel Islands, 1940) … Close your eyes. ~ Rest. Soft sand, a gentle cushion, warm honey light, fluttering from the sea. Ice water, oozing, creeping, closer. Cold shadows coming, crawling across, tarnishing day, jolting a shiver – convecting currents ballooning above in the untold dimensions of the massive of…

Clean air.     Calm.         No rush. Family.     Friends.         Time.             Nature. Creativity.

Cumulonimbi darken behind the park’s trees and their golden leaves. ~ Model yachts broach, dogs yelp, hats blow off and people chase them laughing in the wind, voices sparkling. ~ Sudden gust, raindrops, people scatter smiling with blurred, watery eyes.

Winter leaves a land of still anticipation, bathed in orange light. ~ Biscuits, coffee, nestled in his ship – a cutter perched on rusty barrels, small before the sun. ~ A nearby nest of lanes – the garden done, she heads to yellow flames, as coldness comes, and cuts, and the colours merge to grey.…