There was a tower being built.

With great effort it reached for height,

it stood proudly.

 People mistook it for beauty,

they didn't know how to concentrate effort,

they never build.

As I sit, I hear the distant call of birds, muffled by heavy doors. I hear the clicking thud of laptop keys. I hear an occasional scrabble above me, from the dormice taking residence in the ceiling. I hear flies throwing themselves into the windowpane.

The. word ‘idea’ is an abstract noun, but what is it actually, I wonder, and where does it come from? I’d like to think that, in forming my ideas, I am free, unrestricted, and authentic, but I am also aware that I am starting with baggage.

What is ritual except an act of devotion? What is devotion except an act of reverence, towards something on its own accord, the spiritual that is birthing into sight?

I consider myself an intuitive person, but what comes first, reason or intuition? A few days ago I found myself choosing colours for a website design. My first instinct was mauve and green, like a globe artichoke. Still, I decided not to rush it.

Twice an angel has come and visited me in my dreams and given a hug of love that is beyond description it was pure love, I believe she was giving me a bit of healing I needed.

There is a moment just before you get into cold water when your body knows what is about to happen and your mind has not yet agreed. You stand there, at the edge of a river, a lake, a pool that has been sitting open to the night air, and everything in you says no.

Maison Les Buis was a nunnery, then a courtyard farm, and now a place where artists come to work. The stones don't mind. They have been reused so many times.

A few months ago, a dear friend gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. Not long after, during my weekly wander through the local brocante (flea market), I found myself searching for a small gift to mark the occasion.