BEGINNINGS

Young people tell each other stories about the world every day. We think we are listening but often we are not. We have plugs in our ears that drown out their words. Read More →

Fire. In a valley, near where I once lived in Wellington, there is a street lined with old houses that I used to pass on my way home from work. Read More →

It is arguably true that the past is a story about grandmothers. Part of my own past can be found in a spiral-bound 8B8 exercise book with a red cover that my mother keeps in a drawer by her bed. A couple of years before her death my grandmother bought the exercise book from the corner shop down the road and in her cramped, arthritic hand, she wrote the story of her life.Read More →