I love poets, and their poetry. The stories they tell, oftentimes with the least possible words ... the deadwood all cut away.
This poem ...
I love poets, and their poetry. The stories they tell, oftentimes with the least possible words ... the deadwood all cut away.
This poem ...
Snow has arrived here in Antwerp.
It's cold, damn cold. I woke at 3am and padded through the house, trying to work out if I could turn the heating up. It goes way down at night. It was 14 celsius inside ... it didn't feel quite right.
It's snowing again as I write this meanwhile a tram derailed over on the Leftbank here and it's a little messy when it comes to getting past Central Station on Tram 5. But I need more Nespresso coffee capsules, just till a delivery can be made.
Sigh. I'm going to get snowed on.
In good news, my voice recorder arrived in the mail today. Interviews can happen again. I lost mine in New Zealand and was so sad. I am so careful with my equipment, so very careful usually.
Anyway ... outside just now.

Sitting here, having just completed 100-shot photo-shoot, a hotwater bottle on my aching back, Miss 8 downstairs with that horrible flu/cold that's going around, waiting for the predicted snow to arrive on a zero celsius day ... I find myself missing those sublime days, back in New Zealand, on that roadtrip in the little red car.
I miss pies too.


We're just in from a weekend spent in Wallonia, where the temperature dropped to below zero celsius and snow fell. And we gathered around a huge fire in a big old house and spent our time talking with good friends.
Actually, my heart has been warmed as friends have welcomed us back to Belgium after weeks spent wandering in that New Zealand summer.
Wednesday found me out with Jurjana, my truly delicious Croatian friend here in Antwerp. She drove me to her favourite restaurant and we enjoyed a lovely lunch and catch-up session at Patrasche, in Hoboken.
Thursday and Stephanie, an English friend, came over for dinner with her daughter. Another few hours spent talking and listening.
Friday and it was Lucy, Fiona, and Ruth. My lovely Irish and Belgian friends. We began as an informal Nederlands class but they have become such good friends that there was something of a 'coming home' feeling as I arrived at Fiona's house. Actually, we don't really speak in Nederlands anymore .... but, by crikey, we always have a most excellent time when we get together.
And this weekend was the icing on the cake. We wandered over to the New Zealand/Belgian/American household, over there on the other side of Belgium, and the snow fell and our wandering souls were surely warmed.
We're back in Belgium where its winter.

Today, I bought flowers in a bouquet designed by Dieter, my most favourite florist ever, located in Ter Rivierenlaan, Deurne.
And I have the family bouquet downstairs, in lieu of sunshine and blue skies, but here on my desk I have a small bunch of flowers that will surely be stunning as they open in the days ahead.
Flowers, as always, a way of arriving ...
