grass stains on my clothes.

i played today. played. i don’t know the last time i did that, not like this: leapfrogging and cartwheeling and somersaulting, on a patch of grass in the city. losing my breath from laughing so hard. falling to the ground and clapping my hands in sudden moments of hysteria – elation in its purest form. 

the swing sets and seesaws and skipping ropes might have become part of the past. a memory of the fun. but today, it all came back to me. innocent. untainted. 


incredibly free.

wayward winds and lollipop skies.

it’s two birds on a power line, kissing with their beaks. it’s making milkshakes and memories. thinking about all the wonderful things we could be doing. thinking about the amazing opportunities lying before us.

it’s youth. it’s in the eyes of a staring child. it’s the moment you sit there speechless, a bubbling of emotion restricting your words. for where you thought they were, they aren’t.

it’s everydayness and surprising reciprocity of feelings growing inside you. both of you. it’s the moment you realise that this is all you’ve ever wanted.

what drives you? what makes your passionate heart run wild? why are you living? we’re caught up, entangled in the web of mediocrity. this world is spectacular, this world is abundant. this world, for better and worse, is waiting for us to explore it. it’s sinking and growing, cities and landmarks. it’s fading dusks and glowing moons. it’s wishing and receiving. it’s forgetting the difference between work and a weekend. it’s doing what you love.

don’t wait. read, devour, listen, explode, let the moments eat you up, intensify your thoughts and take your breath away. let it take you over. let yourself discover. 

it’s all just waiting.

my feet, my heart, are itching, again.


the baby arrives in eight weeks time. a beautiful little girl.

i saw her, you know, on a screen through an ultrasound with a special scan that showed her little nose and lips and eyes, closed, so peaceful.

and my sister-in-law, well that baby girl is in her belly. a human life. a miracle. growing and becoming something to hold. someone. so fragile, innocent, full of all the glimmer and possibilities of a future. because that’s all there is with a baby. that’s all it has. no past. nothing to look back on. nothing to keep her from being anything she wants to be.

she’ll grow and she’ll crawl and she’ll talk and she’ll walk. and she’ll be my niece forever. that special little girl so close to being born.

and in that first moment i hold her…


i can’t imagine the emotion i’ll be consumed by in that one moment.

i’m so excited to meet her.

when i was young, i broke my leg.

you’re so innocent, naive, fragile, when you’re young.

waiting for grazed knees and scarred elbows after learning to walk, run and ride a bike…learning that sometimes you fall over. sometimes and many times.

you think about toys and watch moral-of-the-story tv shows. you get cooties and you get chicken pox and you have bath time and you have nap time. you drink milk. you play: cops and robbers; with barbies; in a tree house.

then you grow up and you have this capacity to learn and soak up extraordinary amounts of knowledge.

it happens all of a sudden. you become old enough to think for yourself, make decisions, choose your fate. and that’s how it is.

no one’s keeping score. this isn’t win/lose. this is try your heart out. go, do, be, feel.


the bloodline.

my brother is going to be a dad. my eldest brother, becoming a pillar of meaning and moral and teaching for a child. his hopes and dreams coming to life. being fulfilled. being recognised by the universe and flooding his heart. a heart so full of love for a baby not yet born.

a new generation.

…and so history can continue. 

daddy’s girl

he stands there. so proud. explaining, the magic. the smirk. the eyes and hair and skin and colours. the puffer fish with their decorative lighting staring at him, too. i listened to the sound of his voice. the sadness as he explained the difficulty. i don’t see her that often. well mum and i…he trails off. but she looks like me. she’s definitely my daughter. he says her eyes look like a nebular. spitting colours, drawing images. so poetically he speaks. a father’s love for his new born child. bursting. 

sad. but proud and excited and happy. 

she’s going to be a dancer. she loves music. i have images of her, in a sundress, me the dj as she twirls. pause. smile. as if his imagination continues to roll in his head.

so many hopes for his child. for her future. her life. the dreams are inexplainable to him. too many. he stumbles on his words, tries to race to say the most insignificant, yet wholly important details about the innocence that is his child. his blood. his heart and his soul.


the icecream man drove down my street today. with the medieval, sombre yet joy-instilling song echoing into suburban houses, enticing and exciting little ones. and me. 

i stood on the balcony and watched as pedro drove slowly past. the song evoked pleasant memories of a childhood sweetened by icecream men, just like pedro. his door was open as he drove by.

but, no children were on the streets today. no one ran out. no soft serve was served, no sprinkles sprinkled. pedro drove by, his song becoming another childhood memory. fading. distant. gone.