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I am writing this as bullets whizz over my head, currently underneath the rubbles that appears to be a bed. No, it has not ended. And no, I don’t...

Her ring was old, her grandma’s gold; her love, commitment new and true; her dress she’d had to borrow … no sop to superstition, or slavish following of tradition – just

26/11/21 To all my fans, of my novels, written, unwritten, and partly written, and short stories, poems and blogs, chronicles, and posts. It has been...

Getting it Out or Something It is the 5th of February, 2024. I was given homework by my therapist to write about my dad. I don’t know where to start...

Why Starlings gather in their murmurations (from the sound they make) is still a mystery, and long may it be so. We are fortunate in having had some good displays this winter, in the nearby RSPB nature reserve.

We watched from the shore, is he really on board? There’s no sign of him on land or sea or yet behind this sealed sky. He is behind our eyes, as a...

Gerald was grey-all-over old, that’s the first thing I noticed about him. He was tall, about six feet ten, had a long, straggly, grey beard and was...

The story of a magic carpet-ride through Persia - Part Twelve, the final part.

[Continuing the hymn-for-Sundays series] Grace, powerful, undeserved: the favour, gifts of God – though all we do he has observed, our every word has … He is the Gardener …