“Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers” (Isaac Asimov)
We Get To Choose
Never underestimate the healing power of Nature
Vent
Exposed in the flatlands of Central France, our tiny Encouragement Farm is battered by early spring gales (vent is French for wind)
Faded Glory
A poem inspired by fields of French sunflowers withered by the sun
Rise
An early morning run; labouring … lifted … soaring
The 'silence' of the lone cyclist
Reflections on the solitary emotions of cycling