wanderings & wonderings

Bali. Early August. A day of bright sunshine and happiness laughing in the air. A day that makes you feel so glad to be alive and the earth shimmers with joy. At dawn the tendrils of cloud strung out across the heavens were a pastel palette of glowing colour ... dusky pink, soft peach, pale lavender, golden yellow, in no hurry as they drifted languidly across the silvery blueness of the sky. The silhouettes of Gunungs Agung, Abang and Batur stood sharp and clear against this

It sounds like a shoot out between gangs of Sicilian Mafiosi ending in the untimely death, or some might say the well overdue demise, of the much-feared Frangipani family. In actual fact it refers to gardening, of a sort. Central Bali. At the start of a season that should be dry and sunny during the day but which was still wet and overcast. Windy and cool. The occasional day of glorious sunshine reminding us that behind the clouds the sun always shines. He is just extremely

Ubud, Bali, in the hour after dawn. The ether shimmering in the soft, golden light of early morning. Birdsong and the distant melody of gamelans drift across a sea of emerald green rice fields on the wings of a cool, gentle breeze. In the woods by the house a cockerel crows and from the rafter above my head a large pink and turquoise tookae peers down at me, laughing in his croaky voice. Walking around the garden is a sensory delight. Flowers are in abundance everywhere. The

Bali. October 7th 2005. Six days after the second bombings. I arrived at Denpasar airport from Singapore in the late evening at a time when the airport is usually buzzing. How very different this night. The usual thirty-minute queue at Immigration was just a memory. Instead I walked straight through, the customary jovial banter and laughter with the officials replaced with intense words about the bombings and gratitude for still visiting their beautiful island. The baggage ha

Batuan, central Bali. A Wednesday at the beginning of February. The night’s darkness still blanketing the earth. I awoke cold and shivering, huddled under my duvet with the wind causing my mosquito net to billow over me. I screwed my eyes shut and drew my knees to my chest. Knowing I needed to shut the windows behind the bed and close out the draught if I was to have any hope of more sleep. I ignored it all. Willing sleep to come anyway. It had been a late night, by my stand

6/7/2006. Candidasa, south eastern Bali. On the edge of the dry season. Low dense cloud in shades of grey encircling the hills in a tight embrace. Cerulean blue skies peppered with luminous, puffy white clouds suspended over the ocean. A strong sea breeze carrying the seductive memory of far-flung lands leaving a salty aftertaste on my lips, rustling the leaves of the coconut palms high above my head as it passed by on its never-ending journey. A solitary charcoal-coloured co

16/7/2006 Central Bali, late June. The morning after the night before. A night where the earth moved for me, and countless others on the island. Another earthquake in the early hours. Measuring 4.5 on the Richter Scale, thirty three kilometres below the surface of the earth, felt across the southern part of the island. Thankfully no loss of life nor damage to property but yet another reminder to us all of the precariousness of living on the Ring of Fire. It left in its wake

in the moonlight of your life your skin drapes loose over your bones documenting your existence and wrapping up memories that you have determined will remain untold leaving me wondering what you might have said and now never will Written in 2012 shortly after my Pa left this earth. A white feather is a traditional symbol of remembrance.

You can’t live in Africa without noticing, at some point in time, a Muti Man’s shop. Well, that is what I call them. Shops that are found on street corners in every city, every town. Places where native medicine men, the sangomas, purvey their wares. Even in the heart of glitzy Johannesburg you would find these shops. At least you could in the early Eighties. I always hurried past them. They seemed to have an air of malevolence about them to me. A feeling, I suspect, borne of

1991 ... I knew as soon as I saw them that trouble was brewing. It wasn’t that there were thirteen of them. Despite me being superstitious and not very keen on this unlucky number. It wasn’t the way they were all shoving and pushing to get through the narrow door into the train carriage. How else would you board an Indian train? It wasn’t that they had an inordinate amount of luggage. That was quite normal. It was their sheer physical size that was daunting. They were all eno

Another little piece I have found, also from 2009; an exercise for the writing group I belonged to in Singapore. The task was to write about our favourite smell in less than 100 words. This is my offering - 99 words. Rich, round and yellow this aroma arrives without knocking. A blast of fragrant happiness that makes the limbic system salsa. A trace of spice underlying a big, bold statement of lemon. Or is it? Sherbet lemons, for sure. But lemons off the tree? No. If this aro

This was written in the Funan Food Court in Singapore in 2009. I found it today when I was going through some old notebooks. I remember this encounter as if it were yesterday... They stared at you they did At your difference At your height At your eyes At the curve of your spine They did not see what I did You asked to clear my plate A raised eyebrow and eye connection No words I smiled with you eyes to eyes Said yes please You asked me how my meal was A circle of your thumb

... my mojo hasn't run away, of course. It is firmly here as this image demonstrates - taken on a walk around RHS Rosemoor this past weekend, with the focus on sunlight and shadow for my photos. It would be fair to say I have not written in a while however I need to be kind and honest with myself and say that photography counts as creativity. Why I always forget this when I have my photos for sale on Getty iStock and Shutterstock is beyond me. I was involved in a car accident

How we manage our wellbeing is a matter of personal choice. It is something I am passionate about and an arena I have been working in for over 2 decades. In 2021, into our second year of the global SARS-CoV2 pandemic, more and more people are aware of the need to think about their wellbeing, about their wellness, as the stresses from living as we have to continue to take their toll. One thing I do every day is go out for what I call a bimble, a walk. Every day without fail, n

My writing muse has deserted me. It left on March 23rd, 2020 - the same day we lost our freedom for the first time. At the start of the global pandemic that has ravaged our planet and all upon it since December 2019. It worried me for a long time that I no longer had any urge to write. However, I have kept up with my walks (my bimbles) every day and in the beauty that surrounds me I have found great solace. I take photographs on every bimble. A focus to my walk and also a way

Sky dancing, early on a Friday evening, from Singapore to Bali. Six days after the second Bali bombings in October 2005. The aircraft has a 2-3-2 configuration. There are three Indians sitting behind me, to my right. A couple. Tiny, wizened, wrinkled like walnuts and the same colour. By the looks they are old in years, yet somehow young at heart with the wisdom of many lives in their auras. Eyes the colour of charcoal sparkling like diamonds in the sun. Scarlet bindis on thei

Part 1 : Bali 2006 Ubud, Bali. Late one Friday evening in July. In the circle of friends sharing laughter, good food and companionship. The songs of our chatter and the voices of frogs blending together in the cool, freshly-washed night air. Discussions over dinner bounced from one subject to another as we travelled round the globe on a journey from Bhutan to South Africa, the Maldives to Scotland, Singapore to England. From Thimpu to Cape Town, Male to Iona, Changi to Heath

The sky is blue the sun is shining all around the little birds sing In the distance the sounds of a lawn mower the laughter of a child Pink flowers on the camellia bush green moss in the grass leaf buds on the oak tree Sparrows on the feeder a blackbird taking a bath a robin looking at me from the fence in this time of global pandemic this is my normality a surreal reality Working from home a novelty for many today my life for much of twenty years social isolation daily life

circular world, world of circles, forever forming, closing ...

Dreams echo in the winter of words.