On cue, every year, the migration occurs. When the last humpback breaches the waves and the final tail slaps the water, it begins. And the warmer it gets, the more they come. Hands shade squinting eyes as the adult homo sapiens squeeze out of SUVs carrying surfboards and kayaks. The young are camouflaged behind bulgingContinue reading “The migration”
This short story was inspired by Wavelength, an original artwork by Miriam Shilling as part of the 2025 Eurobodalla Literary and Art Salon. ‘People are like water; eventually, they find their level.‘ This is my dad’s advice whenever I vent my frustration about the latest antics of Abby. My youngest was born a day afterContinue reading “Wavelength”
The low hum of conversation greets me as I push open the door. Then I’m hit with the unmistakable scent of lemon. ‘Good morning, ladies,’ I call to five women perched on battered armchairs and crammed side by side on a faded couch. Dragging a hot-pink shopping trolley, I navigate past walking frames and overflowingContinue reading “The Self-Saucing Cookbook”
‘You know Larry the lawn mower man saw a shark bite a seal in half out there,’ Kate hears as she emerges from the surf. ‘You love telling me that, don’t you Gordon,’ Kate laughs as she strides up the beach, sand squeaking under her feet. Barking and tail wagging, her cocker spaniel Charlie, rushesContinue reading “Memories”
