Salty Mornings...

By winter there were water marks on the walls and blue light filtering through every room, and each wavering breath she took was as salty as tears...

Christmas was wonderful and quiet, family and friends, fairy lights, old movies, champagne and coffee, and today I had a day of frosty beaches and steaming tea, low golden sunlight and salty crisp air, a perfect winter day... and so I am content.

Today I have sand on my feet and salt in the curls of my hair, the sky is a scattering of stars, I still have ink on my fingers and poets in my car and I that feeling of freedom only wide horizons and maps can bring... Today I love scarfs and picnics, I love frost underfoot and golden light, I love keys and as always I hate selfishness. Today the woman I want to be can see the beach from her bedroom window and the waves lull her to sleep each night...

Beauty and Truth...

We talked between the Rooms

Until the Moss had reached our lips

And covered up our names

-Emily Dickinson

I have a lot of work to do; everything needs pinned down, gathered together between pages and boxes. My head is still full of Fairy Tales and coffee, and my days not quiet back on track.

Christmas, for me, starts tonight; a weekend of lace and ribbons, decorations and pine needles, stars and paper, i love it so...

And then I'll keep working; moss on mirrors, buried lace, pearls on trees and bones, green waistcoats for Irish princes and books upon books... why am i doing three projects?!

Today my fingers are blue ink and there isn't a star in the sky. Today I love white lace and long colourful silky ribbons, I love apple and blue cheese for lunch with smokey coffee and songs that haunt me... Today I love long scarfs, peat fires and the smell of books and the woman I want to be understands herself and that thing called fate. She slips on grace as other women slip on their shoes and she is a flurry of chiffon, tea and presents...

Wintering...

All through that winter the house smelt of apples and ice. And in the Spring when the frost thawed, he was gone. His boots filled with salt water and no blossoms on the trees...

oooh I missed daylight... cold and golden daylight. Blue fingers and toes, the crunch-click of frost and film. I missed my camera too. The dissertation is over and although I have my narratives and Fairy Tale to get ready I feel free.

The family have been donating old film cameras to me, it turns out we have quite a few photographers amoung us and so I'm gathering up quite a lovely stash...

Today I love pearls, soft jumpers and frost on the glass. I love the beach on cold days, low sunlight on white sheets and a sky scattered with milky stars. I love fresh white notebooks with sharp pencils and as always I hate half truths. Today the woman I want to be keeps film in her back pocket and poetry in her bag, she knows her limitations and keeps her friends close. She sleeps soundly and her life is daylight, she eats jam from the jars and smells like vanilla...

Twice Upon a Time...

The stars fell down; like broken glass, like a sprinkling of salt and ash; hope smashed on a cold floor...

The days all bleed into each other; the soil frozen now, brittle, dead.

The brambles come, fruitless, they wrap around the house. Cold house. Fairy Tale house.

And she has forgotten to leave crumbs on the path...

I've no idea where these narratives are coming from, or what to do with them... I'm still trying to slay that dragon; my head is still buzzing with the old tales and my days are still Topsy-turvy. I eat bread and jam with tea in the depths of the night, and lunch after dark. Winter is truly here, everything has a sugar coated frosting; candy canes and silver lanes aglow...

I just want this writing over and done with, I've left it far too long. I want to get on with my practical work; chairs woven with words and red satin, waistcoats for princes, light and seeds, moss and lace, apples and pearls, books of images and narratives, so much to do and I want to get lost in it...

Today I love my red silk shoes, so high I think I could reach the sky, I love jazz and fairy tales and raspberry jam on hot toast, with steaming tea at 4am. I love words, hundreds of them on white, and the English language; strange and beautiful thing that it is. I love long conversations and I loathe betrayal. Today the woman I want to be knows the poets off by heart, she trusts the ones that love her, and will not allow herself to be cadged. She is a wild thing and the only mean reds she feels are ribbons; long and silky...

Once upon a Time...

She knows the way, she's traced it a thousand times; second star to the right and straight on 'till morning... red velvet on white crumpled sheets, the stars on fire, and him; red satin scars, a mouthful of pennies and dark velvet earth...

I've been working a lot on my dissertation, and so my head is whirling with Fairy Tales; the old tales and their art objects, politics and princesses wielding axes... My nights are spent surrounded by words, writing-writing, the deadline is too close, like a vile Fairy Tale dragon I let slumber too long, but I'll kill it soon, give me two days and I'll cut myself free...

Today my fingers feel like ice and ink, and my hair has started to trip down my back, my days have become nights and I sleep at noon. Today I love lyrics that read like poetry, and dresses that flutter, I love the red feel of the old tales; all that decadent dark. I love coffee with chocolate cake and rosy apples and as always I lothe falsity. Today the woman I want to be wears peacock feathers in her hair, she dances until she can no longer stand, she laughs as if she wont fall apart and is friends with all the stars in the sky...