Tag Archives: memories

Memory ~ Hayley R. Hardman #writephoto

Who knew what the old standing stones remembered. I ran my hand along their rough cut, damp moss covered surface as I walked around each one. Did they remember where they came from? Who brought them here and what worship … Continue reading

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Memory ~ Honoré Dupuis #writephoto

Now is the time. We must face the test, and tell the Truth. The Truth we remember. Then it’s out of our hands. We must pray our memory does not fail us. Continue reading at Of Glass and Paper

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Storm ~ Honoré Dupuis #writephoto

It’s lonely up here, one doesn’t meet humans too often, mostly the locals are ravens and rabbits and moles, and the occasional eagle. But I like it, this is my place, where I dream, and remember. There are sweet memories, … Continue reading

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The Song Of A Stream ~ Balroop Singh #writephoto

This image evokes the memory of a sagacious song that each bounce of water whispered into my ears; the unforgettable lyrics… having the quality of a lilting and enchanting tune, unique in its form. As the stream gurgled down with … Continue reading

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A Visitation… ~ Jaye Marie

Reblogged from Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie: One of my characters has been in my head a lot lately, constantly nagging me about something. He has featured in three of my books, and I think anyone who has read my work … Continue reading

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Dreaming ~ Anita Dawes #writephoto

Dreaming I am lost in dreaming The feel of your hand in mine Dark lonely nights remembered Inside the tall grey stone Our time has fled The circle closing Ancestors whispering Continue reading at Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie

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Offering ~ Honoré Dupuis #writephoto

Time has now come. I expect her, I have long expected her, and, now, I know she’s there, close to the gates. She bears the chalice. From it, I will drink, to the last drop. And so, the prophecy will … Continue reading

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Whitby Weekend: A Coastline of Ghosts

It felt odd driving down the steep hill to Runswick Bay. I had walked down… and back up… that hill so many times before, equipped with a bucket and spade or a fossil hammer, skipping along beside my grandparents. Little … Continue reading

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Remembering

My mother was not quite seventeen when I was born. She and my father, just three years her senior, had married early as he had joined the army. They were still living close to home when I first came into … Continue reading

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Living Lore: The magic of memory

It was with horror that I read an article, a few years back, that highlighted that fewer Yorkshire-folk now know the words to our ‘national anthem’… On Ilkey Moor Bah’t ‘at.  To me,  that was incredibly sad. Not only is … Continue reading

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