Prose
June
It is June in Orkney. The first poppy bursts and the garden delivers up its heart, and it is quick and wild and bright, a rollercoaster that runs all night long, sipping the nectar of light no longer rationed, but strewn like child’s confetti. In the garden beds the bright poppy’s gentlewoman bow in the […]
Read more of June...Red
Red Homespun stockings itch. With the least feeling of warmth they rub my legs like a bear’s skin. Although I have not met or touched a real bear, I know they exist: white in the arctic where the whales swim, and brown in the forests where the trees prick the sky. I have homespun stockings. […]
Read more of Red...Travelling in a Strange Land
Travelling in a Strange Land David Park The perils of driving through snow provide an extended metaphor for the perils of parenthood in this deft and poetic narrative. There is simply no obvious reason why traction starts to be lost and it is impossible to predict, even with all the rational laws of physics, what […]
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