‘A thin day, moon-flock’…
Here we are on this gift of a day. This ‘extra’ day. This day who carries us from winter into spring. This day, rather, who acts as an in-between. A liminal space. A thin place.
I wrote, on this ethereal day four years back, the first lines of my second book, CACOPHONY OF BONE. The beauties at The Clearing published that piece, a piece about that day, that place, that time—time generally—and about grief too.
A piece about nests.
That day is the reason that book exists, and I am confident that day is the reason this substack exists.
For sure it is when I really starting crafting Neadaireacht /Nesting, perhaps the writing course that was the hardest to sculpt for many reasons, but my first, and as such, means more to me than I could ever say. Thankyou for the beautiful feedback on it, it has anchored me so much these last weeks. It hasn’t been an easy time recently for my work; I’m in my own thin place if I’m honest, having to let go of
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