Simply Elemental

Fluid as a Hokusai wave, this blushing Granite. Wind-worn, Mica-clad curves. Solid and sensual- An athlete’s thighs. Yet so maddeningly quixotic! A draughtsman’s Midnight doodles. Speech-bubbles from a comic, with only one phrase looming: ‘Are we real’? Grinning Sphinx mouths mock replies. Who care’s, when they’re so beautiful? Even their make up exotic. Feldspar: now…

Improvising

To become a snail, when human, is quite a thing. To make one’s home mobile, and transport it to a new place, is yet another. To convey one’s family in the same frail shell is yet another permutation. One which I undertook in August, along with my wife and Four Year Old son. We went…

Nevil and Alf-Part One

To the rest of the world, the leafy  nursing home Sunset Oaks was a picture of calm repose. At 3.26 am even the night staff were asleep, and but for the occasional thrum of the boiler room all was silent. Even the keenest of ears would have missed the jazz music escaping from the soundproofed mahogany door…

À Mon Retour

It is all so very familiar: From a certain light at sunset to the sudden fresh breeze. Dusty warmth to the air caressing lithe beach bodies, both male and female. In fragrant supermarkets the strong, open-faced women with Work-worn hands. Their denim-clad husbands. Family dinners with all eating together. Fireworks after dark, and the sensuality of everything….

Something out of nothing

There is such joy in skimming stones. Even in the searching and gathering; seeking rounded narrow discs. You need a calm moon, with the tide as peaceful as a millpond. Water as calm and misty as the eyes of a sated lover. Thigh-deep, launching stones as fisherfolk cast their nets. Each stone, caressed between fingers…

St Solen-Part 2

    Tomas had barely slept. The many cockerels next door had awakened him well before he padded down the granite steps, picking his way barefoot across the road to the well. Nobody stirred in St Solen before dawn apart from the rats, and only they emerged at the peril of Raymond, the indomitable finger-wagging…

St Solen-Part 1

After a week en vacance, his mornings had fallen in to a familliar pattern. Almost a ritual. Tomas would wake with the birds, fetch some coins from the kitchen mantlepiece and buy breakfast from the boulangerie on the main street. On the way back, turning a corner opposite the park, he had come to look…

En Bretagne-Dinan

Perhaps it was the light that made it so particularly special. Bright, white sunshine reflected off lead flashing and mottled slate tiles. Light made all the brighter for the contrast of grey cobbles and dark, dark timbers. Light that threw long sharp shadows, as slim and defined as the church steeple with its plaintive bells….