Some silences hold more truth than words ever could. It's so sad. Is it? I caught myself judging a friend for her performative grief — diving instantly into the socially acceptable displays around death and dying: mock sadness, circling the fresh kill, and picking at the bones of another’s sorrow to feed a need for… Continue reading From the Marrow: It’s so sad
Category: Writing My Bones
Bin Chickens (a.k.a. the Naughty Birds)
Van life / Road life reality So, yesterday I took a photo of what I thought was a sacred ibis. But it was white. I’m familiar with this birdlife from the peninsula in Victoria where I’m based, but I’d never seen a white one before. I watched it, photographed it, cropped the pic, and sent… Continue reading Bin Chickens (a.k.a. the Naughty Birds)
The Pistol Packing Pastor
Tales of the sacred and slightly ricidulous The retired pastor from the local church wandered into reception at the Strahan Motel one afternoon. I was a little askance—he lives in town, after all. Why did he need a room for the night? Yes, he’s stepped down from the pulpit, but no, he hasn’t retired from… Continue reading The Pistol Packing Pastor
Christine Writer 