Monday, 25 March 2013


"I remember when I shook against you. The flavour of mouth. We are animals meeting an unknown breed. The reek, the size, where to find the right softness. Against this door, coiled into each other under the brown and white cloth. Trying to come closer than that. A step past the territory."
Michael Ondaatje. Coming Through Slaughter


Tuesday, 12 March 2013

For Madelaine

Monday, 21 January 2013

Hearts that last

I have had Madelaine's heart that she gave me in Reading on my window since Christmas after it hung on top of the tree for the last peaceful days of the holiday. It hangs on its thread from the window handle and sometimes catches the sun on the days that we have any. It has not caught my eye for a while - I usually see the room in darkness and it gets lost against the night sky but this weekend I was home for the first time in months and I saw it against a light pale winter sun and the snow that fell on Friday. It has a beauty about its form that is neither ostentatious or garish. And this weekend I was able to look on it and remember the feelings that it came with and the time it was given - the end of a mad three weeks in November that will define my life. The heart is beautiful and I look at it with renewed hope and energy as I realise that my belief that our love will prevail is slowly coming to be true.

Monday, 31 December 2012

As the wise man said

... geography is now history, and it is hard traveling alone. 

Forty five years of your life are unknown to me, but here you are, familiar. There's nothing cosmic about my love for you, it's only too particular: I love your arms and your skin and the smell of you. I love the rawness of my chin when it's been raked by your beard and the way you make me laugh, the simple things you place in the picture you paint for our future, your handwriting. These foolish things. 
It is bizarre to think of the separateness of the worlds we currently inhabit, but no more bizarre than to contemplate the two of us as we endeavour to weave our lives together, here on the cusp of the new year. 

There is a story, always ahead of you. Barely existing. Only gradually do you attach yourself to it and feed it. You discover the carapace that will contain and test your character. You will find in this way the path of your life.
― Michael Ondaatje, The Cat's Table



Recently, I have found myself thinking about inconsequential things - or seemingly so, amidst the carnage of other developments. I have been walking through the house and village thinking about what will be shared, what needs attention, what new things must be bought or prepared for. And it becomes apparent that deep beneath this frozen ground of winter, spring is awakening and stretching in its endless possibilities. Invisible and undetectable to those who can't or won't acknowledge the power of dreams, it nevertheless is preparing the ground and whispering to the seeds that their time will come - and far sooner than can be imagined in these cold days.
So I potter and gather the small but happiest of thoughts and think of my Madelaine, and how this needs to be changed, or that bought, and know that spring has already come to me in my soul and I hope she will feel it too. The new year is on us, there are so very few days that truly belong to me to get these small things underway ... and if I blink I will be on a plane flying to our future.

Saturday, 29 December 2012

To endure

How often must we steal ourselves against outside hostility, and against even the chance to speak in our defense my love?
I will not forget the love when we spoke - even tonight, and the reminder that it is the precious things that often do find a way to prevail.

All men dream but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes to make it possible. T.E. Lawrence


Tuesday, 25 December 2012

Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind

And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind.
                                         William Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream

And I have been blessed with so much more than I deserve; blessed with love from a beautiful, loving and generous spirit. 

It is a generous love that bears, believes, hopes and endures so very much, and I am deeply thankful. 
Happy Christmas, my sweet angel.