Monthly Archives: December 2019
Happy New Year everyone.
2019 was a stressful year.
2020 might not be much better.
But here’s some advice to keep you going.
The best medicines are, in order:
5 Hugs from kids (or animals if you’re stuck)
8 Fresh air outside the city
9 Diet Coke
10 A view of hills or mountains.
You might have your own order, but you won’t go far wrong when life is shite. Be careful with 4 and 6 of course!
You’re all adults out there…
For anyone who’d like to hear the first chapters of my novels, they are freely available at the link below, or just clicking HERE.
So far there are chapters of the three parts of the Silver Nights Trilogy, and of The Ecology of Lonesomeness.
I plan to add the first chapters of my other novels soon.
And they’re read by the author, too, so you will get to hear what I sound like in real life – or remind yourself of my strong accent if you know me already!
And please, feel free to leave a comment – or a review of the books!
Closing up Camp
Fish flash lethargically argent in the creek,
Creeping upstream, gleaning the last
Of the caddis flies until torpor takes them.
Sun beams golden in glowing leaves but slants
Lower now, more weakly heating us, huddled
On the morning porch hugging our mugs.
We don’t swim before breakfast, only
Paddle after our afternoon nap, picking black
And other berries to boil jam and packing
Pumpkins for the car; chopping lumber
For the evening fire still keeps off falling
Chill, but within weeks we will give in to
Winter’s grip and slip away to the city.
Closing shutters against storms and snow,
Emptying water tanks and pipes from icing,
Clearing closets of anything attracting rodents
Or racoons and slowly strolling round the
Leaf-strewn lawn, taking one last long look
Out across the fall-reflective lake, then forsaking.
Still, thinking of spring keeps back sadness,
Slipping through seasons until suddenly
It’s our last, and we must shut up for good,
Or have it opened sadly in our absence,
Our passage through camp just a forest path.
I write this back in September, thinking of the camp of my friend Tamir, who would have turned 60 a few days ago. I don’t have many photos of his summer place in autumn, but I am sure right now it’s deep in snow and the lake is starting to freeze over till springtime. Thus is life, as long as we still have springtime. And memories that shine like sunlight to keep us warm meanwhile.