Sometimes, in the drama and minutiae of life, it’s easy to forget what’s really important.
There’s something about familial flavours that makes a mum-cooked meal taste unlike any other.
I marvel at the sheer exuberance of it, the audacity of taking up so much space with so much beauty.
A train journey, out of the city. I sit near a window to catch the mid-morning sun. I watch as the urban concrete is gradually replaced by rolling green.
I love it when I get to have a deep, heartfelt conversation that not only reminds me what’s important in life but helps me put it into words. Happy words. Happy days.
It’s the smell that hits me first, almost sweet, and then the breeze, with a slight chill to it, brushes my skin.