+ memoir
She paints roses. I grow them. She listens to Julie. I listen to Kat. She favours lean prose. I toss word bouquets across the page. She’s a realist. I’m a hopeless romantic. My mother, her daughter. • Kat Edmonson • Julie London
aliceandmolly
"Dare to be remarkable!"
• Educator, Blogger, Fairy Grandmother
Month: April 2019
Summer of ’51
The San Joaquin Valley is an endless canvas. Fields of emerald stretch for miles. There’s a cow. Gone. Sheep drift and settle like clouds. Gone. Wind whips my face. Palm trees appear as if out of place. I inhale the sweet smell of citrus. California. Is this Heaven? I don’t believe in God. Somewhere else there’s a war. What’s this holy feeling pressing down … Read More Summer of ’51
aliceandmolly home
For the French girl or boy in you. Make a simple room diffuser. Choose a bottle or jar. Cut a few rose canes- it’s the perfect time to prune. Add condensed rose water to the bottle and several drops of rose essential oil. Wine and Baudelaire. ― “It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.” ― Antoine de … Read More aliceandmolly home
+ memoir
He was dying. My fingers laced his. “I love you,” he said. “I always have.” From his fog, he painted me six words. Six words that formed a scene of a child and a father. She reaches up. He reaches back. Six seconds on the blade edge of time.
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