This sat in my drafts for ages and I’m not sure why, but here you go.
The primal force of the sun shapes the environment. With the wind and the sand it bakes and cleanses all signs of decay. There is no cleansing by water. The rivers flow beneath the earth, and rain falls too rarely. Continue reading “The Road From Coorain – Jill Ker Conway”
“You’re going to think me crazy. I want to make a memory machine. I believe it’s possible. Everyone is capable of time travel for a minute or so by running up and down the scales of their memories. But what if you could capture those memories like a film? Then they could be played again in the four dimensions of space.”
“I see what you’re driving at. A place where time wouldn’t have the same hold over us.”
Better never means better for everyone, he says. It always means worse, for some.
A field guide to the small & significant. Continue reading “Birds Art Life Death: – Kyo Maclear”
Anything that was ever worth knowing began with once upon a time. Continue reading “The Essex Serpent – Sarah Perry”
“I’ve got a question for you,” she said. “Have you ever in your life come to realize that everything, absolutely everything, depends on you?”
Raymie didn’t even have to think about the answer to this question. “Yes,” she said.
“Duh,” said Beverly. Continue reading “Raymie Nightingale – Kate DiCamillo”
They tell me that my memory isn’t going to be the same, that I might start forgetting things. At first just a little, and then a lot. So I’m writing to remember. Continue reading “The Memory Book – Lara Avery”
I got to thinking that one of my jobs in the world was to laugh at Dante’s jokes. Continue reading “Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe – Benjamin Alire Saenz”
No, I don’t dream about the accident. I dream, over and over again, that I’m running. Running like I’ve never run before. Running like Eliza Thompson. Running like my lioness. Running as fast as my dragon flew that night, up into the sky and away from here. The setting changes – I’m on grass, on the beach, on the dirt track at school, on the road – but I’m always running. So far and so fast that my dream lungs ache and my muscles scream, but I keep going. I can’t tell if I’m running away from something or if I’m running toward something.
Tonight is no different. I wake up drenched in sweat. Every beat of my pounding heart is a command.
Run. Run. Run. Continue reading “Wing Jones – Katherine Webber”