Tamara Willems

. . . and to you this day . . .

To have met you… in a book

Well now, to have finished a booksuch as this a beautiful book aboutstill life and lifeinstill–ness days of pandemic and how it waswegot ourselvesthrough about photographywhat it is we may be looking ator forand what it is wesee about life,…
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Today I am reading about flowers…

Today I am reading about flowersamong other thingswhich to meseemsthe perfect thing for late January for several years we have been inching our waytowardsun-lawningthe sort of unnatural, obsessive, artificialbeautification ofspaceslooking more toward justenjoyingthe marvelous wonder ofwild things and always I…
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whimpers in soft c…

Sunday morning’s rather soggy dawnopensaslight little yips forhelpfrom an aging dog knowing perhaps whowill respond I am up where soft whimpersare actually less about helpand morefor shared company we begin strict orders and the very real need forconvalescencesounds kind of…
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when here we are again..

In the night I amlisteningharbouring back to the days ofbabies and toddlersnever quite fully asleep… just in caseinstead now, I am listening for sounds ofdistressas our beloved, gentle giant of a dogseems to be aging quiterapidlyback legs failing to cooperateand…
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have you seen the sun…

Early days of January, where weather isbest describedasbleakhard to remember when last one sawthe sunor the stars evengrey, grey skies, most often issuingrain drops instead ofsnow(as January ought to) this morning I sit down to coffeeand in reverent sort of…
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ah, but in case I stand one little chance…

So much rain and drizzle,grey skiesproves rather drearyof course there hasn’t been a need forshovelingbut it does make things outsidequitedull a new favourite song that I have had on repeatsince first I heard itDear Insecurity, by the greatBrandy Clarkaccompanied here…
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Morning, December 23rd…

Morning, December 23rdthe fan in the bedroomabove the bedbeginsa tinysqueak… and I am awake with thoughtsofthingsto be accomplished tis the season of wondersnot least of allfor a Momand one whose feeble attemptswill always beto keep the magicin Christmas and this…
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