Have started to get horrible headaches in a Haar. Not that there are pleasant headaches, but these ones bring a certain crankiness in their wake. Suspect it’s something to do with the light. Although there is no direct sunlight, there is still the strength of the sun being diffused and dispersed through a gazillion tiny sea-water droplets, which makes for a too bright white wall of smir. It’s like a white-out of light. You can’t see where it...

"They were in the hallway, between the second and third bedrooms, when he saw the door. It was on the left side, set into the wall between the linen closet and the bathroom. A six-panel door, same as every other door in the house - same paint, same hardware, same brass knob. It was not remarkable. It was a door in a hallway in a house, and the only reason Philip stopped was that the floorplan in the listing had shown a linen closet here, and the...

When bin day is the fulcrum of your week, you know it’s well past time to get out more. Trouble is, I don’t want to. I want to stay home and procrastinate on the DIY (yes, still) and many tasks on the list, such as not selling stuff on ‘Vinted’, and decide what to read next instead. (Have to read ‘em before I can sell ‘em). Tragically, bin day has started to take on a stress all of its own. It’s 1.30pm and they’re still not here. Are they not...

First wave of covid, I caught it. Didn’t know I even had it – I thought it was stress and took two weeks leave. When I went back the following Monday, the Bulgarian team hadn’t prepared the monthly invoices and I found myself sitting at the desk, tears streaming down my cheeks. I wasn’t crying, the tears were just silently seeping out. Made an appointment with the GP, got a nurse, he was fab, Troy, who said I had most likely had covid but it was...

Gravitational Hands: (The unaffected minute) The clock face project, the dials: Suspended in a silent, frozen fluid state. Detached from the norms of its time. As the seconds turn to minutes, Unrecognizing the hours in a hurry. Away from those forgotten days, just Last week, saying slow down before Fortnight answers with a brief timeout. This month had no time to reset. There’s nothing we can do now. The new year is here. A crescent moon, being...

Filed by Fletcher Moody — Literary Correspondent You could hear the farm before you could see it. I had driven out from Milledgeville in the middle of a Georgia afternoon, in the kind of heat that gets into the upholstery, and a half mile short of the place a sound came across the fields that I took at first for a woman calling from a long way off. It came again. It was not a woman. By the time the house showed itself, white and low behind a...

Finished reading ‘Land’. Beautiful story-telling, but not one to read if in any way depressed, other than the fact that you could console yourself that at least you don’t have to live a life like that. Also finished ‘Travel Light’ by Naomi Mitchison, which will have to re-read as was either too distracted to get it or fell asleep and forgot key details of the story. Bought it as she lived on the Mull of Kintyre where my father was from. He used...

Saturday was a raggedy day. A rehearsal for things to come. The winds were up. The rain misting between Haar and spritz that faded before hitting the ground. Late summer trees, in their no-nonsense, deep, dark greens, caught on, winking their pale leaf undersides, “We’re in”. On the hills opposite, are several slopes which are farmed, their colours affirming the seasons. The deep port purple of winter furrows, the lime green stubble of spring,...

Drone Warfare Bring an end to winter. To these lethal strikes. Drones and bombing foggy days over Kyiv. The bombs are still being heard around the clock, Non-stop. Shadow on the radar. Haunting symbols, leaving lingering trauma and invisible wounds. So (Sow) maty (Mother) zhyto (Rey). Their weeping mothers. “I’m sorry for your loss”. For your loss, it has come at a devastating cost. There is still a blue road. Fire won't destroy everything. The...

“The Ten-Year Drift” Ten years buried, Like a cabin under frozen snow. Surface: A sudden knock at the door. A return of ten years. Suspension of consciousness I am relieved. Twist of fate; An icy chill on a white blanket slate, fresh skin; a new life. As the sound of snow sonic, pillows over the cabin. There sits our picture. Fades to old blue. Once a shared shadow. Becomes an instant replay. We sat looking out of the window Sharing an age-old...