Heaven Sent An Angel_Streams of Milk_A Thirst for Love_Homemade Marmelade
Catalog Guide:
Heaven Sent An Angel
I want to tell you a story about a woman who performs miracles on unsuspecting people. In this case the miracle worker goes to a town in desperate need of her work. This town doesn't believe in miracles, but she will make them believe and believe they will.The town of HopesWell is a small unassuming town with a population under a thousand. HopesWell is a town many people believe is full of hope, but that is not the case. No one knows this but HopesWell is a town you don't want to visit nor do you want to live there. Then one day she comes along to give life to this town who has lost everything...
Streams of Milk
I used to pretend that the merging and parting of clouds were the Gods of the skies, fighting. Rain and thunder and snow and sun wewww.onedoor.ccre the falling dust they sent flying. Streams of milk up above would migrate from one side to the other, travelling to places unknown. Maybe heaven.I was staring at the sky on Monday, in all of its patchy wonder. Silky swirls drifted from east to west as I observed from the ground below. 24 degrees Celsius out, partly cloudy. Cirrus clouds moved like wind blowing. Altocumulus ones looked like popcorn, not fully cooked.And then I saw it. Sandwiched between these bal...
A Thirst for Love
I live with Dad now, not Mum, but he won’t tell me why. The trouble with Dad’s place is the space. Think Grand Designs - it’s a house, not a home. Minimalism is king, and its emptiness echoes like an art gallery, its concrete floors cold and unyielding. I swear Dad wouldn’t mind if the bathroom was open plan. The reflection in the vast expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows lures unsuspecting birds to their deaths mid-flight. I pick up the broken-necked victims, dig holes at the base of the trees which surround the house, and bury them with dignity, making crosses from the twigs they would have u...
Homemade Marmelade
When somebody knocks on my bedroom door, I wake up but I don't open my eyes. Not yet. I can sense that it is day, there are flashes of light in front of my closed eyelids, and I can hear the birds chirping outside. I always leave my window ajar during the night and I never close the curtains. I want to know what is going on outside. Someone told me just recently that I should better close it because it's cold in November and my lungs wouldn't welcome the icy breeze coming in while I'm asleep. Who was that again? I can't remember. Maybe it was James, my older son. He is not here now. He is at u...