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On the Anniversary of my mothers death.

The plaid of life starts with one’s own thread being crossed by Mother, the birth separating one physically but then combining the threads again as weft and warp.  Soon Father joins and the fabric gains more width and substance, Sister, Aunt and others add colour and texture to the developing cloth.  Down all the years as one forms and reforms the material of self, the criss-cross of mothers thread is always incredibly important, whether in agreement or disagreement perhaps the most deeply woven.  It is so hard when it is suddenly broken, there is a tear in the fabric, a hole that only gradually can be replaced or darned by new threads or by the closing up of those in continuance.  That night the endless wind soothed my memory vigil.

EXTRACT FROM ‘Island of the Wind’ available for Kindle from Amazon at

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