The light in your eyes is never more than a thought away

It's 9am. The fields are white with frost. Yesterday's wet muddy footprints fossilised in time until the great winter bauble of fire rises a little higher in the sky. The skies are blue, the sea a lake of glass and the last of the leaves lie on the ground patterned pretty with frost. 

I see her coming over a little mound in the distance. A colourful woolen hat upon her head, a pole in either hand, and a little terrier dog by her side.

Death, loss, change, and ultimate freedom

I met a Danish friend of mine who’s been living in London the last few years. Her grandma died recently. Her mum is gone too. And not long ago she received a telephone call from a storage facility in Denmark where she’d been keeping a lot of her personal belongings. There’d been a fire. Everything was gone.