Imagine arriving at a gate to neither pass through it, or leave. To find yourself at its threshold, and remain. To feel that you cannot

Writer – Singer – Musician
Imagine arriving at a gate to neither pass through it, or leave. To find yourself at its threshold, and remain. To feel that you cannot
There are lifelines to be foundIn the curve of an ebbing tide –In the field that undulates –At the newly drawn boundary;The reclamationOf a lost
In the intertidal space,Nothing is as sureAs change;Nothing as certainAs tumult –Yet,There are those who reside there;In pools left behindBy the tide,Or in the depthsWhen
Of one thing we can be certain – there is always a horizon;That place intangibleWhere the sun disappearsAnd rises;Where we too can disappearAnd rise to
The small bird knows not what the sight of it in flight can do for those who cannot leave the ground. It is not cognisant
This is the tree that spoke for itself. For which no words of mine were forthcoming when I photographed it five days ago, and came