The Year of Silent Healing
By Christine Lawrence Exactly when did this happen? We ask ourselves today when we wake up to each morning, the year has slipped away. The good times passed us by and still outside the birds [… read more ]
By Christine Lawrence Exactly when did this happen? We ask ourselves today when we wake up to each morning, the year has slipped away. The good times passed us by and still outside the birds [… read more ]
By Cathryn McCarthy This strange April, we watch the daisies rise on ragged lawns, ignored till it began; lost traffic jam orphans, bereft of plan, we jolt awake at solitary cries: bumblebee’s zip, rattled laugh [… read more ]
By Linda Hilborne Lying back on the sofa. It was so exhausting to be ill without that extra worry: will I get pneumonia next week? Millions of other people painfully processing that same fear. [… read more ]
Writer and music blogger Doug Hamilton was born and raised in America, moved to Canada in the early 2000s, and relocated again with his British-born spouse to Portsmouth. In the latest part of his series exploring [… read more ]
Charlotte Comley considers the mental health implications of lockdown. The supermarket shelves were empty and people were selling toilet rolls on Amazon. And then, on the 23 March 2020, Boris Johnson told the country that [… read more ]
By Margaret Jennings When I was a child, my mother gave me a bun penny and told me that whenever I found myself in trouble I should ask Queen Victoria what to do and she [… read more ]
By Sue Harper Sarah’s partner remarked: ‘I do hope someone cooks dinner.’ That seemed rather a passive-aggressive formulation, Sarah thought. Why not ask her outright? After all, she did it every single day. ‘Will you [… read more ]
Novelist and short story writer Wendy Metcalfe finds an unexpected haven in which to get some work done. One of my quests during lockdown has been to find beautiful quiet places to sit and write [… read more ]
Superior the knowing human glance that dreams, in lightly jostling verticals, ideas that make the candelabras dance, the whitened tips of candle flames that call to mind a burning icy chalice raised beneath the [… read more ]
‘stirring Dull roots with spring rain.’ T S Eliot Rude, splayed fingers of unstoppable purpose, intruding indecently into the shy atmosphere. Not taking no for an answer, they displace the proprieties, lifting the flower-nub up, [… read more ]
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