It is about sitting…

It is about sitting. Alone. And knowing there is no one else to blame. Wild stabs at state-sponsored violence Lets no one off the hook. Not even you.

Stair Case

My staircase That takes me up to bed every night. There are many like this in town. I must find out who started it. But I am so tired…four flights of stairs, many times a day….I’ll do it tomorrow.

My morning with Fibonacci

The sunlit steps spiraled under my feet as I climbed up the stone tower of Porte Saint Jacques one crisp January morning in Parthenay.  The staircase is narrow, and I kept my left palm resting against the central pillar, more for reassurance than for safety. I was reminded of something I had read about once…

The second sun

The sun took an age to set there. She kept wondering if it was her imagination. Was she so much in the present that she was scrupulously aware of every passing sunset moment? No. There had to be another explanation. Her dining-room faced west, and from it sprung a tiny balcony, with just enough room…

the Parthenay viaduct

Fighting back vertigo, I cautiously lean over the viaduct’s north rail. Below me the sunken roof of the abandoned Old Mill of God, sinks peacefully into the Solstice mist. The mist wraps everything in a layer of reminiscences, as if the past is seeping gradually yet inexorably into the present. The Pathenay viaduct is nothing…