the seasonal home

“Home is not simply a mark upon a map, anymore than a river’s just water. It is the place at the centre of the compass from which every arrow radiates and where the heart is fixed. [...]

21/52

“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013.” Che: Begging to play battleships on the iPad.  Poet: In the winter garden, cake crumbs on her lips (bonnet by Dover [...]

working with flowers

a wishing well in our neighbour’s garden / tree dahlias with their delicate, slightly shaggy mauve petals that fall almost as soon as they bloom For the next few months I’ll [...]

20/52

“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013.” Che: He can whistle now and so he does, every day. Poet: Before we leave the house she always needs a hat, some beads [...]

autumn mornings

The sky really is that blue and it beckons us from the house, even when we’re in the midst of a late, buttery breakfast. The trees are shedding to bare winter branches; they drop star [...]

the birth of a mother

“The most difficult part of birth is the first year afterwards. It is the year of travail – when the soul of a woman must birth the mother inside her. The emotional labour pains of [...]

19/52

“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013.” Che: Pixelated glasses and his shirt on backwards (his choice). Poet: She will only sit in her pram if she’s [...]

scenes : in blue

/ watching the water journey from the mountain to the sea. I’m etching a new relationship with him, standing my ground while we hear about what so-and-so is allowed to do/watch/play/eat. [...]

gathering with creatives

photos by tim Friday was a beautiful affirmation for me; an opportunity to be thankful for community and creativity. I’ve always believed the creative process is an organic one and so it [...]

18/52

“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013.” Che: In his own beautiful, light-flared world.  Poet: She stopped to smell the roses. Daniel and I spent just over 24 [...]

getting to know you

bare toes, salt water / my favourite skirt is made from the most delicate cotton; it’s started to tear but I’ll wear it till it’s threadbare   I’ve learnt a lot about my [...]