That little fireball I told you about a few posts back survived. Saved by a surgeon's knife and the titanium force of her will. Her body hammered by steel. Pulled from wreckage with muscle torn from bone.

I like the cut of your jib sunset. Your swagger toward night. The way you toss light across the ocean with your sway. And gather your clouds over the horizon. I like the way you drawn in your power and

Life makes ghosts of us all. There is no other way out. In a world filled with self-serving and externally driven goals what are you leaving beind? What is your mark, your legacy. How will you be summed

A few years back I was burnt out and washed up from looking after other people's kids when a little fireball danced into my life. She was feisty and formidable. A slip of a thing made from a heart laced

My dear friend Elinor has a fabulous conversation starter. She asks, "Where are you from?" She doesn't mean where where you born, not where you grew up nor where you live now. What she means

I have been more inclined to wait for my vision of an image of late. I used to settle for what life gave me. Now I bide my time, watch for the skies to do what I want. An apt metaphor for how life changes

I regularly avoid Vivid Sydney - one of the largest light festivals on earth. The idea of battling with a hundred thousand odd folk in a single night for a look at some lights doesn't leap out as the most

“What sort of brainwashing, he had wondered, had created a world in which people worked fifty or sixty hours a week, every week, no matter how beautiful the day outside, no matter what thoughts they were

My sunset from the cubicle series has been waylaid by poorly timed customer enquiries and early finishes. You will be pleased to know that I leave the office after dark for the next two weeks. Wandering

My writing muse has escaped her cage and run for the misty autumn hills. Now the words will not come. I can feel them all stopped up in my chest. Block is the right word. Perhaps I need my grandmother.

A Beagle broke free from it's leash and charged at me from the darkness last night while I was riding my bicycle. Teeth bared, snarling, and intent on drawing blood. I crashed my bike in an effort to dodge

Breenhold Gardens was about finding beauty in miserable conditions. The rain fell at a drizzle interspersed with showers. The cold cut to the bone. The day I chose to wind my way through the foliage was

What if you let it break you into a million pieces? Let it's momentum carry you to the floor like sand. What if you stop resisting the wakeful nights and twisting stomach? If you let your shoulders crumble

Rainbows are a complete circle. We only see half of them because of our perspective. Where does the rest go? Is someone on the other side of the world simultaneously gazing in wonder at the other half

When she was very small the cool kids made her walk at least ten steps behind them, alone. She felt a red hard ball of shame lodge firmly in her chest, where it has remained ever since. I have been visiting

My home town is a rag tag collection of the homeless. A quirky lot who refuse to conform to the recent onslaught of gentrification. Folks with trolleys for homes who wheel their belongings through town

I like what I see, the me, reflected by you. It is no way to live, this fickle self existing exclusively as mirrored through you. We can only be known backwards - keepers of our intertwining stories. Oh

More than once of late I have wondered how it is that I am still here. I am not prone to exaggeration so believe me when I tell you that a series of storms tore through my life and left nothing but wrack

Today was all grey skies from the cubicle. I had given up on sunset colour and then ... this happened. And I got stuck on a call watching it catch fire. This is the tail end of a cracker. Steepshot | IPFS

So the other day I'm driving along this dirt track in Kinchega National Park real slow right? Two reasons. First there are wattle bushes all along the sides and they're faded like someone pressed mute