Latest Writing
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Latest Writing

We used to live in a yellow house. It was beautiful, with white shutters on the windows and a garden in the back. We would spend every Sunday afternoon in that garden, helping Dad plant the chrysanthemums. My sister Daisy would pick which colours went...

Back to back, wrinkled and withered, we lay in the garden as sleeping thoughts flittered.   Crumpled in grey, bathing in dirt, we will take to the grave all the lessons we learnt.   But for now, who can say? Who could ever forget? Not us, surely, who have mastered intellect.   The mammoth of knowledge, a titanic of...