it was months ago when i picked rosehips along my path home by the sea, slipping each one like a little gold nugget into the pockets of my grey, zip-up jumper. i’d imagined doing it so many, many times, like a child in a candy shop, reaching up to pluck the beauties down; this time,…Read more i dream of rosehip tea.
Autumn breathes on my face from afar — so fresh! — stirring every unique nerve ending to sudden, electric life. As if my mother’s cool hand rested gently on my arm, I’m startled awake. And out from the ashes of languid, summer days, my heart rises up and up, spiralling higher, higher, and higher still, feathered and beating…Read more …That Thing with Wings
The world gets into our pores and writes on us lines with the clay of earth, warmth of sun bite of wind caress ; sorrow & joy clog our faces with our insides, the experience of our lived Grind:connected. Existentially, we are slow-born sculptures that tell of a daring hand a fiery eye, laced with…Read more Pores
stark feathers rise in rows from soil soaked by rain a farmer's windbreak --- --- c. Kate Gough
I can’t find my incense. I don’t want to write. I desperately want nothing more than to write. For ever. So then, perhaps I’m just a stymied masochist at heart(less), doomed to miserable inaction for the rest of my days. I do not dedicate myself as I should, as I need. . . There’s a…Read more The Ever-Processing Machine
0% c. Mary Kathryn Gough Black & White film 100 or 400, Jan 2005 Monastics used to climb up into these crags and crevices to pray and meditate. There were then monasteries built near the top of some, with wrist-thick rope nets let down on pulleys for visitors. Since then, steps have been carved into…Read more Meteora (c)
c. Mary Kathryn Gough Instagram