Finding one’s place.

Time ran out; left us wondering, what did we not find out, why did we not ask more questions, before a generation slipped away, and we are left missing bits of our history, bits of our soul, and now we will have piece all the stories in tight verses, that will create our future.

Migration.

looking up into the pale blue skies, I see great formations of migrant birds returning for the summer, in huge V formations, coming down towards the mountains and the wetlands; Sacred Ibis, Flamingo’s, herons all searching in continuous waves; an expedition of magnitude and creation, here they are free and safe as they circle in…

A walk on the Beach

It was cool with an on-shaw wind, tugging at us, as my sister and I walked down the beach at Brenton on sea, with it being winter, the breeze was cold, so we both wore our brand new annorax over our t-shirt and shorts; how we ran, jumped and folicked down the long white beach,…