How Time Flies

Japanese lavender field

28th January 2018

In the stillness of the night

I follow

your path,

the red trail telling me

where you go,

what you might see.

Into the future

you fly,

to rise

with the sun.


Picture source:


For Christmas
My little girl
Not so little anymore.

A ticket to Ryde

Sunlight dapples the shadows streaming through
The windows on this bone-shaking train –
People stare at one another, mutely stunned,
In the ancient underground carriage.
Wordlessly I too ponder how such
Rickety, cantankerous beasts managed
To hurtle around underneath our
Capital. This train seems to echo my
Thoughts as it lands at the next station with
A groan; disgorging the passengers with
A projectile spew onto the waiting platform.


Hailstones march down windscreen…no escape!


An unexpected bonus; a request
for friendship, to share the things that she sees –
but from afar.
I see too but refrain from commenting…
except for liking them…rather a lot.
Friendship can be a very fragile thing.

On the edge of the abyss

We get a phone call from the side of Mount Etna. The signal keeps going and then we get cut off. I can only hope that she hasn’t dropped her iphone in the crater – I’m not sure it would be covered by insurance…



Who is this pretty young girl? Her huge whirlpool eyes look unhappily into the distance over the shoulder of the invisible photographer.


What lies in store? Will she find a sense of ease in her distance from home where she can find no peace of mind?


What a difference five plus years makes.  An independent woman gazes back straight at the camera, veiled from clear sight, yet those eyes are now self-assured and confident. Her face remains sombre due to regulations but is used to laughter and smiles not tantrums and tears.


The newly blank pages are not a sign of being less travelled (she who has travelled the globe) … more a sign of hope and freedom to move at will.


A passport reveals so much more than a right to your own identity.

Rhiannon 2007 Rhiannon 2013

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