Tuesday, 29 September 2009

Gwen asleep on the Rug


My little dog is 16 and two months. Her heart is straining to pump the oxygen she needs and her lungs are bubbling and crackling with fluid overload. Still her eyes are bright and full of expectation. And in her sleep all four legs kick out in synchronised jerks as she runs like the wind in her dreams. I trace her outline - her boney head, the cleft where her shoulder blades meet, the curve of her ribs - like someone who is losing sight of our shared future.

3 comments:

  1. Oh this breaks my heart. I can feel the love.

    I found your name in an internet search for writing workshops, and came across the work you are doing with Victoria Field. Could you keep me on a mailing list and let me know if anything else is being offered in future?

    Thanks: Lynnerichmond@gmail.com

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  3. I've just had a peek at your blog, I thought I had just managed to set up one up but can't log in again. The creative side of my brain has difficulty getting in touch with the practicle one. Sorry I missed you the other day, I will be in touch again soon. I wondered if you a doing anymore workshops in this area, I would love to come one one...and maybe a few other people I know will too.

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