Travels in New Zealand and beyond, going back to 2003!
Relaxed in a hammock, I smile, watching my seven year old daughter, a florist for a moment, carefully cutting roses from the garden, clutched in her fist. The thorns she is wary of, bees she accepts for without their buzzing, there’d be no roses footsteps are left with care, leaving no debts roses arranged,…
It’s been just over a week since we landed in L.A. We are settling in, doing all the usual necessities of any new expat; setting up bank accounts, getting ourselves some wheels, getting to know the money, the shops, the food and become accustomed to the climate (which, as we already anticipated, is very favourable)….
A challenge was set, from my friend Cyndi, aka Latte Junkie, for ‘Lyrical Sunday‘ this week. She gave a beautiful, poignant start to a poem for us to continue with (and she is going to finish it too – so, it will be interesting to see the different angles people take on this). The words…
Latte Junkie has set the theme of ‘Women’ for ‘Lyrical Sunday’. I’m a day late – but there’s a good reason – I really liked this theme – but there were just so many diverse possibilities and angles from which to write (and I was concerned that I wouldn’t do justice to women with my…
She likes to feel the ground below, learning fast to watch for dangers. She sprints so fast, for one so young, unhindered by straps and leather. Her feet feel the rough and smooth, preparing for life’s journey. She learns to tread gently on some ground, where others she can pound. Thorns and stings can slow…
I’ve temporarily shifted hemispheres and seasons – from spring to autumn – from New Zealand to England. I’m walking country lanes untrodden by my feet for many years. I’m finding treasures I used to know so well – seasonal markers of the year in England. On Saturday I came across a sweet chestnut and it…
Latte Junkie posted a photograph as the inspiration for this week’s Lyrical Sunday. I found myself sat in ‘Players’ restaurant, at the end of Pier 39, in San Francisco writing the following poem. My two year old was asleep in the buggy next to me, whilst my six and nine year old had a wonderful…
The sun dipped down at six thirty on Saturday night, with a sunset to warm me to the core, leaving winter nights behind – and knocking on summer’s door. The clocks took us closer, as we slept, waking to a new time & a season of promise. My mood that’s felt depressed, since May’s darkening…
This Father’s Day, there were hand-written cards – Decorated with stickers, stamps and pictures. Breakfast in bed, made without help from Mumma – Freshly baked heart biscuits & waitress service. Three daughters sat on their Daddy’s bed – Watching him open their carefully wrapped presents; An Avengers film and funny boxers – Candy planes and…
Inside the mind of my two year old… ‘Play with me! Play with me! – And with my magic wand, I’ll turn you into… a tree!’ ‘Help me save the baby lion cub – you can be in my animal rescue club!’ ‘Let’s dance, play tag, catch the ball – climb up there – careful…
Our gateway to the outdoors is guarded these days, By children who test us in various ways. We start with encouragement and gentle persuasion – Trying to resist bribery and coercion. We are often surprised by who resists – And struggle to find the solution to enlist. Eventually, after tears and raised voices, We all…
What an incredible opening ceremony of the Olympics in London! We woke to a brilliant day of winter sunshine in New Zealand and watched the opening ceremony on the television with great excitement and awe. The most amazing history lesson of Great Britain unfolded before our eyes (fabulous slide-show of photographs on the IOC website)….
INVADING, OVERWHELMING, OVERSTIMULATING, OVERTAKING Technology Television Computers Internet iPads and iPods Playstation BREAKING Family Walks Meals Nature Playing Games Music Dancing Sport Talking BROKEN ________________________________________
A smoke etched face I walked in to the beat of the drums – The moon hanging full in the starry night sky. The fire blazed in the circle of drums, Drawing in dancers with a hypnotic cry. I’d come with my drum, to sit in the circle, To add to the pulsing rhythm round…