Saturday, April 20, 2013

after midnight in real life

The rain in Wellington today makes me think of this moment...
The Sunday before last, when I was home down in Christchurch, I took a little time away from everything to visit the '185 Empty Chairs' memorial on Cashel Street. There are no words, only a horrible aching silence.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

i miss autumn

One of the things I miss most about living down in Christchurch is autumn. It's so beautiful to walk through Hagley Park, in the crisp April air, carrying a handful of crunchy leaves home in my pockets. I'm a little sad that Wellington doesn't have the same gorgeous Autumn leaves and I always find it surprising just how colourful the city becomes when I go home.

Pretty Autumn leaves in Tuam Street, Christchurch

One of my favourite words is 'autumnal' it just has a warm and soft sound and it's especially wonderful when my dear friend Laura uses it to describe something lovely.

Still... we do have stunning bright red pohutakawa trees all through summer in Wellington. It helps a little.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Then, shaken, her heart strangely stirred, her mind chaotic, she walked slowly homeward.

from Taken at the Flood by Agatha Christie, p.82

earl grey and chapter twenty three

The best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – which you had thought particular to you. And now, here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours.
-  Alan Bennett

Tuesday, April 02, 2013

on sleeping with the hallway light on

so just lately, I've been reading a few too many murder mysteries. It started with old Agatha Christie and now that I've been introduced to the charming Mr. Lennox I shall never get away. I started 'A death in the Small Hours' by Charles Finch very quietly late last night. I'm on page eleven and it's wonderful.

An honest pom pom rug update: no progress... to busy trying to discover who killed the housemaid.

In the words of C.S Lewis, "You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me."