Writer Between Worlds

Soulful writing about humans and places

Category: Nature

Heat

this smothering. this incandescence. this slowing down of industry. this blistering disintegration into idle particles – placid, primordial, like the silence, pierced only by the terrified barking of the lone dog desperate to sound brave. this viscous, heavy blinding doubling down on your shoulders. this begging for a breeze, the impossibility of shade and the…
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Membrane

today I’d like to be a poet – nothing more. slow, silent, wistful – pure organic membrane wrapped around this cosmos built from rock and cold. lonely pulsating membrane through which the unseen ripples.
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Night sky (haiku)

nothing means anything but the night sky, all those dead stars still glinting.
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Corsica 2026

I returned to Corsica after 21 years, the same way a grown woman revisits her first love trying to understand what might have been and what she missed back then.Corsica outside the tourist season is the kind of rough gem you explore at the pace of your own breath. It is a proud mare no…
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The nature of things

On the ground, insects toil away. Above, the forest is dying. Gnarled and unnaturally twisted, it scratches the horizon with skeletal claws; combs it like it’s a skein in need of untangling. On the ground, insects toil away. Above, the forest is dying. Between them, people walk, setting dogs on each another; people walk with…
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No photos

Crows on a dying treetop, scattered on its bare branches before taking flight. Crickets in grass, loud, and reeds slowly slanting below blue mountains, crimson suns and clouds like cotton of the purest white. I take no photos and no hostages from this: I simply watch how the marvels explode on an organic retina that…
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Saying Goodbye to a Tree

I hugged the tree in my garden yesterday as it spread its arms out into that empty space that summer weaves out of vapor and linden fragrance. I hugged my tree yesterday held it tight bark against cheek and whispered my goodbyes. It felt rooted and rough I entered its shy shade like one enters a…
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Wild geese (haiku)

the sky stitched up by southward wings, its low-hanging belly exhaling.
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Carpathian cow-keeper

Come, come look at the cows, he says, just cross this little brook, don’t worry it is not too cold, and never mind this blue rope here, I will untie it in no time. I wrap it ‘round the bushes so the cows think it’s electric and don’t get away I tend to about 20…
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Today

be quiet with me after the rain in the rejuvenated world count all the fallen petals bask in the timorous sun the bulbous wet sweetness of soon-to-be-fruit the snail’s past trailing behind him like a wedding gown kneel down, put your good ear to the ground be silent listen to the breathing the throbbing this…
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Have you?

Have you completed the sacraments of life? Have you bowed to the April sunrise? Have you worshipped the brightness and the honeyed light dripping on the fresh leaves? Have you helped a blind mole across the gravel road and kept it safe from the fury of bikers? Have you touched bark or beetle and gladly…
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Springtide

Heat. April heat. Deep, penetrating. This afterwinter sky – unfamiliar, molten, aglow – splurges on timid leaves, permeates clothes,and burrows into skin. Out by the river I am sitting on a log. The gulls have just taken off, shrieking, treading water, flapping their wings against the dormant, mirror-cold, reflected images of trees. Seconds later, suspended,…
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