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Cougars and Humming Birds

17 June 2013 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

' The hummingbird stores no fat so if it cannot find flowers it will die. It hibernates every night, waiting for the first sunlight to warm its wing muscles enough to fly to a flower.'

Wild: An Elemental Journey, Jay Griffiths

Like a cougar that must kill frequently to satiate it's appetite (and more importantly provide fresh meat, the burden of any obligate carnivore), the life of the humming bird flutters around the most basic level of existence.

It is life pared down; it is reading, not satellite television; it is travelling by bicycle not air conditioned car; it is collecting water from a river and washing from a bucket, not luxuriating in a temperature controlled jacuzzi tub.

It is pure existence, nothing more.

...[Read More]


16 June 2013 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

The radio crackled into life.

The message all but lost in the accompanying static.

I listened half heartedly, long since resigned to understanding only pieces of that puzzle.

Reassuring in its testimony to an active world outside, it was equally disconcerting, reinforceing your sense of being alienated.

...[Read More]

Life in a Cemetery

15 June 2013 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

I found myself standing on the precipice of an old graveyard.

The cemetery is the hallmark of a town that is no more. A crumbling memory of what once was. The shadow of many people's lives.

It is nestled in the forest, hidden, just across the river from the cabin. And I haven't been there for a couple of years.

I clambered across the train tracks, wading through deep snow, listening intently for the rumble of the monster coming, as presumably the inhabitants of Donald did 150 years earlier.

It was a Sunday, and felt like one.

...[Read More]

The Cat

12 June 2013 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare


The Cat

'She was licking the open tin

for hours and hours ...[Read More]

Another World (episode II)

10 June 2013 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

I stared out of the attic window, now a bedroom.

For years my sister's home, now mine for the duration of my stay.

I let the fresh air wash in from outside, flow over my face and neck, awaken all but the most stoic parts of my soul.

Still resigned to defending the wall that housed all things familiar; to guard against impending heartbreak.

Leaning against the sloped ceiling, I stared blankly at the farm, the sea, Scotland.


...[Read More]