Tag Archives: Marilyn Hammick

Moon jelly

In the afternoon we walk across the dunes. Blackthorn, wild plum, sprinkles of elderflower line the paths to the beach. Sand sprays over my feet like wholemeal flour drifting from sieve to bowl. The shore is empty with other latecomers, … Continue reading

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Accordion

She leaves me with slender strips of air fine enough to slip into the flat of my pleated lung, just enough breath until the next set. On hold, on stage without a part I listen, watch, wait for when her … Continue reading

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Out of the wings

I’m not the sort to keep a cloud diary, more a spotter of opportunity, like the one offered today’s sky, sky that had nursed all night on the white stuff. Eastwards a flat, somewhat dull, screen hovers, gives the impression … Continue reading

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Digging in the Green

Our language offers this simple word, for the palette of treescape, hedge hues, leaf and stalk shades, tones of frond, branch and bud. Let’s take the g by its waist, shake out its curls, divide the arch of the r … Continue reading

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The Sense of a Margin

You were reading about edgelands so we talked about in-betweens, places, times when one meets one other, discussed the ways limits are forged, the performance of boundaries and I said, take what we call dawn, for example, which is not … Continue reading

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