I wrote this last week and, true to my current form, I didn’t finish it and didn’t post it. I thought I would share it now because I think it is worth sharing even in this form. It’s reactive and petulant and unfinished, but sometimes so am I and so are you, so here it is.
I turned 27 this month and it hasn’t answered any questions. It’s almost as if everything is the same.
Continue reading “Turning 27 and feeling lost”I didn’t mean to start this entry so downbeat. That is what I wrote when I first started this paragraph, which was originally three paragraphs below where it is now. I have moved it up to get some good news out first, because there is a lot of goodness and a lot for me to be grateful about at the moment. For one thing, A year on the back of an envelope sold out all 10 copies in Mockingbird Gifts in Abergavenny, and also sold out 6 copies in Crickhowell Resource & Information Centre before being restocked and selling another 2 so far (as of 24 December when I visited). That is 18 copies in total, sold to people I don’t know without me there to market it! A big deal for me and I’m really grateful to those two local shops for taking a small stock on.
Continue reading “Update and general thoughts/mood”Green Man
Dyn Gwyrdd yn y mynyddoedd;
Green Man in the mountains.
He sat smiling, holding our secrets,
While we lazed and stretched under the trees.
Among the hills in burning sun or lashing rain—
We drank beer and danced all the same.
Heaving hive of colours, bright.
Tie dye shorts, pink fishnet tights,
Patterned ponchos and fairy lights.
Long fluttering skirts, mud-deep boots,
Bucket hats and unkempt hairdos.
Hips unstill, hands stretched high,
Closed eyes, delight, as bass hummed
Through our chests, our minds.
Four days of sanctuary, of joy untimed,
Then Green Man burned and we returned
To our lives.
To a world with different rules
Of what counts as sleeping or as clean shoes.
After two years of silence, alone at home,
We each rediscovered scraps of our souls
Swaying in the mountains among twilight shoals
Of silhouettes we did not know.
Caitlin Saunders 