The Road to the Beach House
‘Okay, it’s recording,’ I said, leaning in towards her. ‘Let’s get going. ’ Celia permitted herself a faint smile at my expense.
Perpetual Motion
Holly is cycling home from work when she sees it. A flash across her peripheral vision, like a shooting star. She blinks.
A Midsummer Night's Shore
Coasting, gently coasting. Our sailing skiff moves purposefully parallel to the shore. A sandbar juts out, and canvas claps as we tack away.
Running to Hamilton
“Run to Hamilton and tell me that. ” Those were her exact words. Hamilton’s words.
Twins: The One Indigenous, The Other…
“Yes, twenty minutes apart, so Eugene’s actually the older of the pair. ” “And yet so much smaller!” “Well, he had a problem breathing.
Time to Go
His jandals have been removed – relocated. Their flatfish contours sprawled on the portico caused offence, as he knew they would.
The Orchard of Hopes and Dreams [57°55’ N, -4.2°806’ W]
They were a couple of sightseers hitting all the spots when they saw the sign, hand-carved in brown-stained wood, classic minimalist Forestry Commission style.
The Place Between Times
I consider bus stops as the in-between times in which I am in a state of moving but not moving. The journey to another location but temporarily stalled.
Light Current
It’s always chilly at night, especially in a small boat like this. I’m not exactly sure why we’re drifting around the harbour in a small tin boat.
The Reteller of Dreams
Ever since she was very little, Laura Brown’s bedtimes have been marked by the return of her dreams from the previous night.
Forty-One Years
The glue from a stamp furs my tongue like rubber cement. I can’t post a letter into the past, but I can send it to your last known address.