Sunday Thoughts

It’s a grey rainy day here in Scotland and mood was a bit on the low. This is the time of year where we are out almost each weekend: wild camping, kayaking, hiking, mountain biking. And I was not looking forward to another weekend without adventures. We got onto the mountain bikes anyway and took a route that used to be blocked off but now has an access path. I never knew we had proper wetlands just on the outskirts of town, with a field of cotton grass, a birch wood covered in blueberry shrubs! I will go back and share some proper photos with you. It was as if we accidentally stumbled into another dimension. From our urban surroundings into a wild, wild wood. Magical! So how many micro-adventures do you have on your door step? Areas you don’t know about or–like the alpha boy–haven’t been there in 40 years? Amazed how huge that tree you remember from childhood has become. Little hidden gems of magic.

Outer Hebrides

The last two weeks were spend camping in the Outer Hebrides in Scotland. Whilst kayaking and walking there were many moments for reflections and insights, I am going to share in poetry and blog form. I am also really excited to share some of my experiments with you. Working with the environment we were in, I created a ‘Washed Away’ mini-series around themes that follow abuse, such as shame, and fear. And another one focusing on taking a closer look. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy the images and sounds, and laugh, cry and think with me as usual.

view from my kayak

Stories–a poem

A poem lingers in the back of my throat; scratching my vocal cords like an angry cat.

When I close my eyes words dart across my lids like alarmed starlings from the cherry tree.

The rhythm of words pulsates through my veins, like the bass from a subwoofer.

I hear the echoes of stories wanting told, wanting an audience, needing out–into the open.

Every cell of my body wants to tell stories; for in stories we live, we learn, we join the past with the future.

The library is too huge, large, enormous, endless, eternal, ethereal, intangible to crasp but the stories must be lived.

Are you in the right book?
What story have you chosen?

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