The Temple by the Sea
I’m getting off to get lost in the air,At the edge of the world where the light is bending… – … Continue reading The Temple by the Sea
Tag: Writing
In My Neighbourhood
“Our lives are made in these small hours, these little wonders…”– Rob Thomas 4:16 AM in the Old Town. Outside, … Continue reading In My Neighbourhood
On the Buses
But the journey. The journey is still the same. The sense of moving through a landscape that is still, in some deep way, unfamiliar to me. The small thrill of stepping onto a bus and trusting it to take me somewhere I have never been; or back to a place I know well. That trust is easier now. The bus will not break down. The driver will not lose control. The windows will not fall out. It is safer. It is cleaner. It is, in almost every way, better. Continue reading On the Buses
The Colour of Spring
Waiting for the colour of spring.Let me breathe… – Talk Talk, April 5th. A hot, pale blue sky arches over … Continue reading The Colour of Spring
The Girl in the Doorway
Later, I see a plaque. Carved stone, old, official. Two characters: “Civilisation endures.” I do not know what to do with these two things: the girl, the plaque. But they belong together. They must. Continue reading The Girl in the Doorway
Heat and Dust
On the overpasses, cars crawl through the mirage, each one a sealed bubble of air-conditioned defiance. But the city doesn’t care. The heat is indifferent, eternal. It radiates from the concrete, rises in waves from the road, presses down from above: a three-dimensional sauna of light and dust. Somewhere behind all that sun-glare, the desert waits, unchanged and unimpressed. Continue reading Heat and Dust
The Liberty Timbers
But it’s not one that a Jack Tar would recognise. Instead of oakham, gunpowder smoke, tobacco and rum, I can smell oak polish, high-end perfume, old wood, and new money. It’s a curious blend, like Chanel No.5 dabbed behind the ears of Admiral Nelson. Continue reading The Liberty Timbers
The Riddle of the Stones
The hills rise behind Abergavenny like a wall built by giants, steep, green, and unyielding. They are the town’s backdrop … Continue reading The Riddle of the Stones
The Ruins of Llanthony
The priory appears suddenly—half in ruin, half in shadow—as though it has risen from the earth itself. The surrounding hills form a vast amphitheatre, each ridge and fold reflecting the broken symmetry of the priory’s arches and towers. These aren’t just hills; they’re a congregation. And Llanthony stands at their centre, the altar to a forgotten order. Continue reading The Ruins of Llanthony
Stone and Sky
The railing is old, but sturdy. I lean on it and take in the view, swept by a mix of awe and vertigo. The wind up here feels purer, less of the earth and more of the sky. It tugs gently at the dry grass growing from cracks in the stone dome beside me, as though even the weeds want a view. Continue reading Stone and Sky
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