Random thoughts and ramblings on no particular theme.
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A poem/musing in memory of my mother, Maureen. I see you still It’s in those small moments, you arrive And always without warning This morning, it was birds They flew into the air before me as I walked And there you were again present in this moment and made real Yet I cannot reach out
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There’s a man in my neighbourhood who is trying to befriend the crows. At least, I assume that is what he is doing.
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I can’t remember exactly when hollyhocks began to bloom across Amsterdam. It feels as if, one summer, they were suddenly just there, reaching up through the paving stones and covering gable ends with wild abandon.
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And it’s only art that can take you by the hand and show you the way towards joy, towards life. Then up the mountainside, to wash your eyelids in the rain.
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Winter is something to endure. Or so I thought. But on a warm December day in Amsterdam I find myself dreaming of snow and ice.
