Flying Fish

Ground is shifting
below my feet
solid mass
into gritty
eddies of sand.

Would be a desert
storm if I were not
standing at
water’s edge;
nothing for it
but to leap
take a risk
and fly.

(Interest from


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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

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