those damn itchy feet

The itchy feet have struck again.  They are like a plague, some kind of warped obsession, an obsession that has me scouring webjet.co.nz, my mind whirling with the possibilities and the wildly exhilarating knowledge that I have enough in my account at this moment to just grab a flight and go. Vancouver, Tokyo, Tahiti, maybe…

weekend sleep

Outside the wind roars in the trees, the erratic tap of stiff branches loud against the iron roof. I know that the rain is coming, my nose smells it in the cold air, the damp edge that slides under the doors and up under the glass windows. This old lockwood house bangs reassuringly, creaking and…