Dear March...

Again, I am taken aback by your arrival. I've been waiting but not expecting.

You have a serene aura about you, one I hope to mirror.

March, you call to mind hard work. Looking past doubt to uncover what could be. 

"Keep going. Keep moving. Keep pushing on."

Your pace is much like that of waves: power then peace, force then grace. And for you, I will learn to wait; learn to embrace the force until grace comes forth. Because it will.

I look forward to your escaping mornings. Your light leaks. And the rare opportunity to enjoy a cup of tea outside.

Give us Spring. With crocuses and the opportunity to carry my coat, not wear it. 

❊

On Love

I'm not sure what love is.

I've never been sure, but I think it's hearing her say "You're an asshole", while her smile betrays the words just uttered.
It's a small child wearing a vest, shirt and jumper; simply because its mother is cold.

I think love is having two apples. A crisp, juicy one and a soft, bruised one. From that, it's offering the better to her.
It's sharing a clementine. A segment for you, two for her.

It's looking at her, like that. With those eyes and that smile.

Love, I believe, is the gentle hand that reaches for you at three in the morning after you've gotten up to use the bathroom.

The message you receive when you arrive ten minutes later than usual, "Are you home and safe?"

I trust it to be everything that goes unsaid. It's incandescent and organic. Mesmerising.
Yours. Mine. Ours. To share.
A yearning for what was and what will be.

I'm not sure what love is, but it just might be magic.

❊

Dear February...

You are short and delicate. An escape month. Like a new island you glisten with the commotion that life is possible. Sweet smelling and ravishing with natural delight.

Bring me anticipated hope and gentle belonging. Show me enough gusto to see you through.

Show me your fury and I'll stand stable.

Flow well and thorough. Busy, but able.

Flirt with the notion that you are more than March; resilient and vigourous.

Dance fast. Run fast. Think fast. But please, be gracious and show a loud silence, a vacant presence. 

Just be, February.

❊

Dear 2014...

There's been some huge triumphs this year; driving, turning 18, obtaining a tattoo, going it alone.

Then there's the smaller triumphs. Which, in actual fact, probably mean so much more to me than everything else combined.
Those small moments. Five minutes of laughing, two minutes of crying, a night of drinking and a morning of smoking. Those significant moments. Well, they've been grand.

It's the tiny things. Like waking up with a house full of friends, all carrying foggy heads. Stumbling outside - using energy from the previous night's beers and baguette - with coffee and toast. I'm sure we considered ourselves highly sophisticated and continental.

The truth is, none of the big triumphs mean half as much as those nights.

I remember every cheesy song, every out of tune power ballad, every hour spent driving through town, and every hour of sleep I lost.

We were silly with excitement. Everything felt new and fun. It was strange and so were we, but it wasn't threatening.

2014 has been home. We've had and felt it all.

It's that feeling you get when you try something for the first time, it's never quite what you expect but it evolves in to an adventure all the same.
There was no one in this adventure, bubble, sanctuary but us. Half-drunk with the prospect of things to come and completely engulfed in each other's love.

We started with a bang and we'll go out just the same. We're bright, and ready for a storm.

❊

Dear December...

Oh December, I hope the fact that I'm struggling to write to you isn't a sign of things to come. Please, be gracious.

Your neighbour, November, was a busy one. We shared few words and many long days. My hope is that you'll bring a little calm, and a little confidence.

You have 31 days before the changeover. You're top dog. Show January that you hold a strong reputation.

Bring cold winter sun and bright hazy mornings. Bring joy and excitement for the new year.

Bring it, December. 

❊

For You

To me, you are the person who is full of colour and love.

I can see it in the way you laugh, and the way you see life.

Lately, I think, that colour has faded, love has weakened a little.

But there are seasons in life, some not as colourful as others. This is important.

Please remember that Spring will be knocking at your door soon; the colour will brighten once more.

In the mean time, I have collected these words. And I offer them to you, with love, and faith that you will make it.

❊

A Lover Lay In Her Bed

She thought about all the souls she had loved that day.

She dreamt of all the souls she would one day meet.

She shut her eyes.

And smiled to herself.

❊

One Thursday Night In May

Enough light shone through the cracks in the blinds to cast a soft light on your spine. It was gentle and ready, driving me crazy as it danced on your skin.

I mean it’s not as if you weren’t glowing already.

You have this permanent glow about you. And I’m envious, because it’s so effortless.

Up and out. Left and right. Every direction going, you’ve got it.

A glow that would make even the most fearful child fall in love with sleeping against light.

What a wonderful way to burn.

❊

Dear October...

You have a warm feel about you. Summer's said its final goodbyes and the orange glow that lit the sky for so long now litters the ground.

I've missed you, October. The way you allow the darkness to fall a little earlier in the evening. How you grant me the much missed permission to wrap up in big jumpers. How the fog that graces most mornings is nothing but tranquil and the little bit of haze I need to feel grounded.

Change is coming. Change is always coming. I want change. In fact, the more I want it, the more elusive it becomes. We'll synchronise in the right places and battle in the wrong, but it'll work it. And the process, though occasionally brutal, is mostly thrilling.

Three months until the year is up. Three months to kick ass. Three months to go out in a blaze.

October, make 'em dance.

❊

You Have Time

If you listen to one thing, absorb and admire one thing today, let it be that you have time. More time than you think. 

You can stay for that second round of drinks. Walk home at half the pace you would normally, the bricks and dinner will still be there when you arrive. Take that extra ten minutes of sleep, you need it. Leave for work a little later than planned, the fresh pastries and juice will be worth it. 

You have time to ring your parents a few time a week - at least. You have time get sick and take the week off, you’re human. Go on holiday, don’t rush the bright days and blissful nights.

Take your lunch outside, there’s time to indulge. Spend that extra half an hour at the park with the kids, ‘catch up TV’ is a thing now.

Keep performing little miracles, you’re changing something big, even if you can't see it yet. You can be kind, humble, patient.

Know that the world doesn’t move as quickly as you do.

❊

Dear September...

The hazy summer days are done now, that's something I can't quite grasp. They somehow managed to blur in to one and I lost all sense of time and responsibility.

September, you've certainly come around a lot sooner than I expected. I thought I'd feel apprehensive because eighteen sounds like an age where you should be free and have it completely figured out at the same time. And I don't really think I'm any of those things, which is just fine.

Instead, I feel appreciative. For the little things. I'm happy to be here. To experience Autumn and colder sunshine. To be able to welcome the morning breezes that will softly dance around me. Many aren't so lucky. So here's to the smaller chunks of happiness. To being here. Being mindful. Appreciating every second.

Here we go, September, let's make eighteen the best yet.

❊

Train Shorts 1 | Unexpected Friends

There was something comforting about seeing a six year old portray no fear or prejudice towards the heavily tattooed man that sat less than a metre away from her. She didn’t flinch once. Not even when he ordered a beer, I suppose she’d missed the two already empty cans wedged between his feet.

It took a good half an hour for the girl’s ease with the new character to be adopted by her Mother - who was sat opposite, an eye on each trouble maker. She did eventually find a comfortable spot, slid down her reserved seat a little and even engrossed herself in a book, although I can’t be sure if that was to hide the disgrace she felt as her angelic child began to learn the not so angelic rules of poker.

❊

Taxi, Please

It’s when the one person you wanted to call doesn’t pick up. You’re greeted with “Leave a message,” Instead of the familiar, “Hey, what’s up?”

To hear love at the other end. That was all you wanted. A punch of encouragement. A gentle reminder that none of it really matters and you can breathe easy again.

But you didn’t get that. You got a long beep and monotone voice. You got a punch in the gut when you’re already hurting. It does matter and you can’t breathe easy.

Now you scroll through your contacts with a shaky right hand, knowing you don’t have anyone else. No back up or second in command. The burnt out cigarette in your left sparks a fire that makes you realise the taxi driver will be your only friend tonight.

❊

Denial

I wasn’t lying that time

I said I had a headache,

an appointment,

no petrol.

I wanted to see you

and yours.

Talk about how ‘grand’

school was going.

Listen to you idolise

your kids, yourself,

the dog.

So desperately did I

want to do you lots

of favours,

destroy your worries and

fix the fence.

I did want to

see you!

But I had

a headache, 

an appointment,

no petrol.

❊

The Organic Release

There I stood 

with a chorus of people, 

our phones pointing 

at the candy coloured sky. 

We took photos of the usual artistry, 

reminding ourselves 

that some things 

are absolutely out of our control.

❊

Homesick Vagabond

It was as if you disappeared off the face of the earth for a while. 

You didn’t leave town when things got bad, that I’m sure of - purely because that would have been running away and we both know you only walk.

You should know it was hard for me too. Hell, I thought I’d never see you laugh again, but I know now that all that space was right for you, it helped you find the good.

And now, every time you grin so wide it hurts, I swear I can see the plants growing towards you.

You got your light back. I’m proud of you.

❊

Dear July...

The first half of the year seems to have disappeared. That, or I have disappeared.

Something big is set to happen this month.

In two weeks, to be exact.

I'm going to go it alone. It's not a huge deal, but it's pretty big.

I'm ready and I'm not.

So I ask one thing of you, July; be powerful.

Keep me busy, keep me grounded.

Also, if you're feeling extra generous, some lovely weather wouldn't go amiss.

❊

Three Books, Three Purposes

In the recent months I've been doing a lot of varied reading. So, I decided to compile a post about the three books I haven't been able to put down... apart from to write this post.


The Bedside Read

After reading The Catcher In The Rye six times, I still go back to it when I'm not yet ready for something new. It's an honest book, with a few subtleties in its descriptions.

Holden Caulfield, the book's protagonist, quickly became an icon of teenage rebellion when the book was first published in 1951. He's an endearing character and portrays both maturity and immaturity throughout. 

Later, in 1981 it was both the most censored and second most taught book in public schools in the US - now if that doesn't intrigue you I don't know what will.

My copy is battered - I even bent the spine, something I largely consider a cardinal sin! - and has underlinings and scribblings on nearly every page.

The Cookbook

This cookbook is a fairly new addition to the stack (of at least 50), it was actually my Mum that picked this up. Looks like she has pretty sharp taste.

It's a hefty book, however it's incredibly articulate! Towards the front of the book is a guide to ingredients; fruit, veg, herbs, spices etc. Leon gives details of when each is in season and where they're typically grown, this is ideal if you're in to shopping for foods when they're at their best.

The back of the book is where the recipes are. A few that caught my eye are: .....

And if all that content wasn't enough it's beautifully designed. Scribbles and casual photos give it a real homely feel. It's a book that's blown the Nigella, Gordon and Jamie's out of the water. You pay for the content and the content sure is good!

The Coffee Table Book

This book might possibly be my favourite of the three. 

It's a beautiful collection of fascinating letters, postcards, telegrams, faxes and memos. Letters from the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald nearly had me in tears, and that's not to mention the ones fans wrote to Elvis!

I'm glad this book isn't available on a kindle or iPad as it just wouldn't be the same. An exquisite book to read with a cup of coffee (or tea, if that's your thing) on a quiet afternoon

If all that wasn't enough for you, Shaun Usher, the editor, has also set up Lists of Note!

❊

Bittersweet Pollution

"Death sticks", you declared them and I had only one to my name.

I placed the controversy between my lips and recalled all the times you told me to kick the habit. 

"It'll kill you!" Rang at the forefront of my mind as I lit the fire that fuelled the invasion through my lungs.

That was the best damn cigarette I've ever had.

❊ 

On Missing You

People often say it hurts the most at night. On their birthday. At Christmas.

Apparently crying in to your pillow and clenching your fists at 2am are the romantic notions that mirror unhappiness.

But sometimes,

It's 11am on a Thursday,

you're standing at the kitchen counter waiting for the kettle to boil.

And it's the sight of sunlight absorbing dust in the air and earl grey tea that makes you miss them so much you don't know what to do with your hands.

❊