Writer, Filmmaker, Mother, Grandmother
You know this already, it is 2018. The deep red of the hawthorn fruit is resplendent against a silver sky, its bark black with penetrating rain. Patches of pale yellow swathe the still green grass, disfiguring the enduring landscape, but look again and you can imagine sheep flocking home, their woolly edges like fallen clouds… Continue reading 2018, a year of satisfaction, subterfuge or sabotage.
I'm at my island home. There's a storm outside. The wind is strong and vocal, its intensity tossing the sea into a sky kneeling so low it is swallowing salty water hungrily; head back, gaping throat open, the effervescent foam gushing down its impossibly long neck. The peat is burning, its heavy hue hitching an easy ride on the fertile surf that… Continue reading Today the world lost a friend and the island mourns.
Margot McCuaig 