Category: SSS
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17.12: Six Sentence Story
Note to my readers: I’m travelling for the next few weeks in Colombia. I’ll be reading with gratitude, even if I can’t reply properly immediately. El Mohán: the Colombian River Spirit Time braids itself into the mist and murmur of the Río Magdalena, where women wash laundry in silence and speak of El Mohán only…
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16 Dec: Riverbraid – The Liturgy
The Liturgy for Riverbraid (the water that listens) I. The Carrier of TimeNot emerald. Not jade.But river-green — dark as silt and shadow.It carries storieswithout speaking them aloud,shifting with the light:like memory surfacing,then sinking again. Riverbraid does not rushto reveal itself. II. Of Discipline and AttentionThis is not passive watching —it is presence without interference.…
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11.12: Driftthaw – The Liturgy
The Liturgy for Driftthaw— The Unhurried Awakening I. Of LukewarmIt arrives not as storm, nor sun,but as a space-heater’s hum against a cold wall,a pigeon bathing in December rain as if it were holy water,a mind fogged by sameness,a heart pacing in a room too small for its dreams.Driftthaw is the colour of a spiritbeginning…
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9.12: Six Sentence Story
Hols with an O Not a U Brigid sits near the electric space heater — warmth feeling like salvation as it chases the damp chill off the floorboards. And there’s a pigeon in the birdbath: it lifts its left wing into the gauzy rain (sheets of it falling, half-translucent), splashing about as if the rain…
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2.12: Six Sentence Story
At the Intersection of Odd Numbers Bon Appétit — The Pepperbright Canticle The bell above the door startles itself into a shriek of fingernails on a chalkboard as a woman, trailed by a rosy-nosed child in a cat-eared hat, ignores the door slamming shut behind her and asks, “What do you have for a dinner…
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1 Dec: The Liturgy of Pepperbright Canticle
Liturgy for Pepperbright Canticle (reading time: 1 minute) I. The Nature of the SparkPepperbright Canticle arrives as a glint.Vivid. Gold-green.Like sunlight striking a brass bowlof crushed herbs. It tastes of citrus heat, wild laughter,and something faintly medicinalthat refuses to apologise.It does not ask permission.It simply is:truth slipping out sideways,a confession madewith a mouth full of…
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25.11: The Intersection of Odd Numbers
The Glyph of Rainmoth Fold The Unbound Heart The bell above the door startled itself into song as a woman stepped inside, trailing the scent of wet wool and old rain, her umbrella dripping quietly onto the floor, the air folded small around her shoulders like it didn’t want to be noticed. Brigid set down…
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24.11: Unbound – The Liturgy
The Liturgy for the Unbound Heart I. The Colour of Softened Truth It begins where blush meets ash,a muted rose,pressed between pages of memory,tinged with the softness of smoke after rain.Not pink, not grey,but something woven of both,a tenderness wrapped in quiet release,the hue of truthwhispered after years of silence,the moment sorrow exhalesand becomes something…
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18.11: At the Intersection of Odd Numbers
A Black That Remembers Brigid had the office door painted Vantablack; she loved this colour, it was so dark it erased everything but consequence. Customers slowed in caution as they passed it, uncertain whether it was a surface or a hole; the crow croaked “wormhole” at it endlessly, and Pierre swore he heard a slow,…
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17.11: Liturgy for Black that Remembers
A Liturgy for A Black that Remembers Of ReasonWe gather at Vantablack.A surface that is a hole,a pigment that is absence,a door that is not a door,but a consequence. We speak to the Black That Remembers. Of PortentsThey slow their steps;their instincts hum a warningolder than sight. The crow,feathered in a lesser dark,names it for…
It's Still Life 