ByClare Watkinson
I’ve always loved the word ‘crinkle’. It has such happy, playful edges; an exuberant breed of wrinkle, nestling in furrows of amiability. Far more excitable than a fold, but so much kinder than a pinch! It’s the pleated corner of a smiling eye or the puckered crumple of seersucker. And unlike the meekly silent ‘wrinkle’,…
ByClare Watkinson
Whatever situation I find myself in today, and however uncertain it might appear, I’m going to imagine – just for now – that I landed there as a seed. No matter the challenges I face or the feelings they stir, I’ll be an incipient kernel of growth; plump with fecundity and eager to emerge. Maybe the…
ByClare Watkinson
As the leaves begin to drift and decay, so too do my thoughts. Here I am once again, in stout wellies and overcoat, tending to the damp and depleted garden of my boggy autumn mind. Here comes the dwindling of daylight, and the slow creep of dormancy; the building weight of mud clinging to the…
ByClare Watkinson
In the midst of the socially-distanced hiatus – and within the space of a single week – I found myself travelling the roads of our two most deeply-held rituals through an unfamiliar landscape of erosion, its layers of social-sediment freshly exposed by the flash-floods of the pandemic. There were many reasons to grieve in the…
ByClare Watkinson
As many charity shops will testify, lockdown was a perfect chance to sort and de-clutter, seeing many of us rummaging through the top-heavy totem-poles of our possessions with mild stupefaction over what we’d previously thought to need, keep or want. So it is too with the clutter of the subconscious. For the first time in…
ByClare Watkinson
A week and a half ago, between the opening and closing curtains of a wedding and a funeral, I did my very first podcast; another leap into trusting the flow. And I notice, as I begin to let go of the old, the new and unseen doors that start to shimmer and glow, subtly lifting…