Short Reel of
From rolling surf on black sands at Waikato and the mystery of Tawharanui beach after sunset, the throaty call of a thousand gannets at Waitakere…
Are you under a log? Where the heck are you? Hanging out in some secret man-cave? Turned into expats? Sorry guys, but we just can’t seem to find you…
Fr. Letti scuttled alongside his comrade as carefully as his undignified bottom would allow, and the two rats stood swaying in the parish foyer, of Behind-The-Walls in the great Cathedral…
Then she just comes out with it.
Ever talk to your soul?
Haha he says, and averts his eyes.
Huh. She turns away to leave and then throws this comment over her shoulder. Neglect is death by a thousand cuts.
The heart is disturbingly grudging about dislodging offences that, built over time like a fortress, strives like a searing poker to protect the mind, will and emotions of the soul by disabling pain and feeling, yet all the while hardening the heart into coal.
Sometimes, I feel like all of life sits just below the horizon and the sand of time is always, ever-trickling downward … the unfaltering sift of tiny bits of crushed crystal
It claws to the surface with only one purpose: the problem ain’t dead, it’s just buried alive.
It flickered and glowed and murmured to us; Mesmerizing, tantalizing, synchronizing our thoughts together in those moments that stretched between eventide and starlight. When had the banter and light laughter stopped? It was so peaceful, so calm. As the darkness deepened, night chill set in, and one by one everyone left for the warmth of indoors and bed