Hello to you! This is a mini-post to tell you that This Oddinary Life is now Softly Falls The Light. I feel most at peace beneath the canopy of the forest, in glade and shade, in those places where the sunlight slants just so, filtered through leaves and branches. Those places where it feels safe to be wholly content, or deeply sad, or anything in-between. That, in essence, is the feeling I seek to capture in words, and I think Softly Falls The Light encapsulates that. My hope is that it will evolve into a comfortable, familiar space for readers. This blog will remain a kaleidoscopic collection of prose, prose-poetry and the occasional poem, reflecting my fascination with the mundane and the mystical. I am driven to write by a desire to nourish your soul; if I achieve that, then I am profoundly happy. Thank you so much for reading, and for welcoming me into your inbox and onto your screen. In these days of general overwhelm, with so much clamouring for our attention, I regard this as a real [...]

Today, I went to see, after driving so near, so many times. A slight detour, a dent in the route home, via Weobley. Late afternoon. The village, with its timber-framed houses, was eerily quiet. I had the oddest feeling, as if dangling above everything, held in a giant’s pinch. That curious detachment of mine. Again. There it was, where the main road in bends everso slightly left – a private house now, thick net curtains eyelidding the window. The only relic of its days as The Old Forge Craft Shop & Tearoom was a sign, tucked away in the porch: Lipton’s Tea. Bobbing my head, peering to see it, hurriedly. Didn’t want anyone to spy me hovering outside their door. Keep walking, keep walking – there’s the old stone wall of the garden out back, into which – I think? – the teashop spilled. I only recall sitting inside with you, at the too-small, skirted tables, china cups clattering on their saucers each time one of us bashed a table leg with a knee. Our order was always the same: [...]

On Monday, I follow an elderly man with dough-white arms, strolling down the middle of the road. Thankfully, no cars come. His left arm is bent behind his back, hand curled upwards, fretting at the air. Like a pecking beak - or as if he is making an imaginary crumble topping. Every few steps, he pats his head. I wonder if he has dementia. Why else would he eschew the safety of the pavement, hold his arm so awkwardly like that, his wrist looks snapped… To see how it feels, I stretch my left arm behind my back, rub the air between my fingers. A ghost of fear prickles the nape of my neck. Is the space behind us not safe? Perhaps he knows this. Does he remember why? Tuesday, I lift a coat off the rack at the hairdressers to retrieve mine beneath. Why am I everso-everso mildly affronted that someone should cover my coat with theirs? The hook loosens, rattles, I worry it might detach itself from the wall. Turning round, I become aware of a young woman, [...]

Three hours of shallow sleep, propped against the big cushion like a rowing boat, a tide of nausea lapping at my edges. 4:00 AM. Bolt-awake in the colourless half-light of a midsummer dawn, bed is surely tilting, body a bucket of slopping water. Queasiness enfolds me, octopus-like, tightens one slippery, muscular tentacle around my midriff, reaches another down my throat, twists, pulls, oh no, here we go… Clutching my belly, I feel my way down the stairs to the kitchen, fumble above my head, below my knees, drawers clattering, door hinges creaking, dog confused, jolted from her slumber. Plastic bowl, paracetamol, tap water. Pills land bitterly in sulphurous stomach. A provocation too far. Back up they come… Hangover. In my abdomen is a live thing, a livid thing that tenses, leaps, lurches, all muscle and fury… then is still. Has it exhausted itself? Surely…. take a sip of wa–NO! Out, out, out! Nothing! No water, not a bead, not a millilitre, I must be scoured dry! No respite, it seems, until my digestive tract has purged itself of every last [...]

I am very new to ‘proper’ photography with a DSLR rather than a mobile phone, and learning to use the camera has been a challenge to my impulsive, somewhat acquisitive nature. Like a toddler with a new toy, when my Canon camera arrived I ripped off the packaging and went straight out to the woods, pointing and shooting in Auto mode. I felt dismayed and affronted when the results were no better than my trusty Samsung Galaxy S20: I wanted off-the-shelf, saturated, silky, seductive images like the ones you see on Instagram! Impatience aside, underlying my frustration was the fear that I wouldn’t be able to master manual mode: I had looked at the dial settings and the menu and was baffled. As if confronted with algebra or the Arabic alphabet, my brain slunk off to a corner and sulked. Because my reflex is to buy my way out of a problem, I then purchased an expensive, niche lens called a Lensbaby Velvet, which produces a beautiful blur effect. It’s a difficult lens for even a professional to master, and [...]

The Tarot definitely has a sense of humour, albeit sometimes a dark one. Take the Ten of Swords, for instance – the card I recently drew when I was feeling overwhelmed. When I began studying and working with the Tarot, I quickly learned that its potency does not lie so much in divination as revelation. More than anything, the images on the cards are a powerful tool for self-understanding. Whilst there are specific meanings associated with each card, when used therapeutically it is our response to the image that is key. The depictions on the cards act in much the same way as reflective inquiry – the coaching skill that involves summarising what the client has said in order to hold up a mirror to their thought patterns. Our reaction to what we see on the card is revelatory because it is like gazing into a pool, on the surface of which we see our behaviours, emotions and circumstances reflected back at us. When I shuffled my Tarot pack for an insight, out popped the Ten of Swords – and [...]