Giant daisies. I love that violet tinge, like the air is overwhelming them. I tear a stem or two from the ground, and they are mine.

My sister crushed the frozen bluebell by the ice-cream shelf. The prettiest late winter flower sacrificed for mint ice-cream.

all those trees in bloom. pale flowers and the air, drenched. daisies and bluebells trapped in the freezer.

freezing flowers is my new obsession... now I look around for things I can scan or freeze.

at work, I escape, and walk into the frozen room, "drinking the air".

I never wrote anything too sad, and if I approached a sadness that echoed then it was entwined with some unholy beauty, some delicious imagery ( Read more... )

And so the clock moves on. And so, I'll share my moments with the skies.

Last night the sky was clouded electric blue. Oh so exquisite.

Ripped paper thrown into the air, caught by the breezes like white petals falling. And there you walk, towards the paper-storm, and I wonder what thoughts are rushing through your mind.

Last night I dreamt I was on a quest to find an emerald jewel, in a surreal yet pretty world. Hedges formed spiral mazes, and I was by an ocean. Perhaps I have been watching too much of 'the crystal maze'. I had to walk through a doorway into the world and the people organising the quest made me wear a pale peach-coloured vintage nightie (very ( Read more... )

spring is unfolding. the broken glass on the pavements gleams in the sun. wishing you were here to watch the world with me.

march is going to be all about the blossom trees and the broken glass.

The sun in march is tangibly warm. I adore it. I want to photograph your eyes in the sunlight.

"The air is a mill of hooks -
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably"

- Sylvia Plath: Mystic

Walking this afternoon through an ancient pathway framed by two rows of trees. A secret pathway, far across cold green fields, far from all the houses. A cluster of snowdrops and an isolated lake. Distance from the busy world.