When Celi writes the world disappears and there is only you Celi and the story. The world holds its breathe and for a short time we are transformed.


Summer feet smell different. Sturdier, rugged,  a shiny honest dirt smell.  At the start of summer we inch and pick our way in  bare feet across the stones to the sand. By the late summer we stream barefoot across the carpark, through the beach weeds, over the gravel and through the hot sand to the tide. Our feet glide, no longer feeling the prick and jabs of the irritated recalcitrant beach. All we feel is anticipation.

It was mid summer. We were way into the glide. The children and I had spent all day at the beach. We had arrived back to the big farm house on the orchard late in the afternoon. Hot and delicious from the sun and sea. We had not worn shoes for days. My feet felt cool on the kitchen floor. My bare feet on the floorboards reminded me of that saying my ex husband…

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