of the tip of my tongue

After the last two bookish blips, I thought I’d keep it matchy-matchy and say three words about writing. Only three though, because I reserve rambling for academic papers. I’m an introvert — every… Continue reading →

of the things my eye collects

I’m not sure if you also flit between reality and a literary fantasy land like I do, but today I lived this poem by Richard LeGallienne: I meant to do my work today,… Continue reading →

of living in colour

It’s Easter, and I’m so very glad for what that means. I leave you with some knalgeel tulips, yellow so intensely yellow that it’s a smack to the head. To living in freedom… Continue reading →

of the avocado battle

It’s Good Friday – and it’s a very good friday for avocados. I grew up consuming them in smoothie form, blended with a few ice cubes and a slick of sweetened condensed milk.… Continue reading →

of the wee hours

  chin propped on blunt-butted knee loitering fingers on prudish keys the fat hand of the kitchen clock lobs itself from 2 to 3 and I go on planting words in the night’s… Continue reading →

of leaves stretching after a long sleep

It was dark and safe inside my little hibernation nub, until the urge to unfurl became greater than my fear of the light.