Folded Word
Exploring the world, one voice at a time.
Tag: creative writing
The West Port Garden
Patrick Geddes was a man with a vision. Born in 1854 in Scotland he was interested in biology, geography, architecture, sociology and much more, and he worked in many of these areas successfully. Patrick Geddes was a pioneer of many things, but he’s best remembered as a town planner.
A Summer Snowfall
There once was a young woman named Bega. She lived in England in a time before us, when the land stretched onwards for miles like a slow breath and the hills rolled quietly and the sea whispered its lullabies. She lived with her father amid tumbling hills and rumbling streams, where mountains touched the sky and valleys sank low.
Grasmere
It is a place of dreams. It is a place of rolling hills and slow moving water, a sunken pocket of land where deer roam the open spaces and osprey soar the empty skies. The sky here travels high and wide like a long breath.
The Woman Downstairs
The Woman Downstairs has a calendar tacked to her kitchen wall
Next to the table for one, where she sits by the window
Looks out at the sliver of garden she keeps and
A Kind Of Allowing
This morning when she came in I knew it was going to be one of those days. She had a look in her eyes and under her skin that made the coldest fear suck at my insides. It wasn’t the first time, but I wasn’t used to it yet and I couldn’t look at it with any kind of calmness. That would come. Thank god that would come.
Kill Zone
Deer are still staying on their respective sides of the former Iron Curtain a quarter of a century after the electrified barbwire border fencing was removed at the end of the Cold War. ~ EARTHWEEK, 5 March 2014 The spotted fawn does not come… Continue Reading “Kill Zone”
With Love, Lorna
We’d done the shops, the vast light spacious shiny shops, we’d sat last night and drank halves of amber beer in a bar with high stools and reclaimed tables. We’d walked the long straight roads and felt the endless rain beat our umbrellas and splash our shoes. Sandstone buildings rose around us up into the grey sky and the pavements went on and on until they met the tangle of the motorway.
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