Deb Curreen Author

In the middle of an eroding cliff face stands a daffodil strong and solitary  unbroken, bending and bright. Tangled in kikuyu resilient to the Nor-east wind blowing hard, straining against those untamed forces of nature. Planted by the sea in days gone by, you've now slidden down the bank, teetering on the shifting shores of Hihi, undoubtedly your final resting place. But it's Daffodil Day today and you glow brightly,  gold and hopeful in the face of adversity like so many people's lives today, who are stretching out for a glimpse of tomorrow. So, thank you Daffodils, for the unbidden joy you are giving to millions today, Thank you for a glimpse of Springtime and  the chance for another day of life. * I took this photo from the relative safety of the crumbling cliff path -  to get any closer was  a risk my life, and we don't want that!

 this feels like nowhere, and home my new vista, this strange beach with it's brown sand, brown rocks, latte chopped up waters and little waves on windy days, like today. the crumbling cliffs tower over me tossing the odd rock in my path, roots bare against the sky exposed and dangling as if they're trying to frighten me. i just leap from rock to rock, dodging the sharp mouths of oysters budding mussels beside murky rock pools that  look bloody cold if i lost my grip and fell into their shallow silence. It feels like home, but nowhere, this deserted beach with warm grey rocks beneath luscious, watchful pohutakawa branches, majestic and safe as the sky above me, and I think I might just love it here.

                                                        Photo: Hugh O'Connor - "8 good reasons"  I will go down to the beach today, down to the sea on those craggy rocks to stare the waves down, dip my toes in ice cold pacific blue water, to dream for a while and remember you. I will walk alone across the chilly rocks, and stare at a silent ocean that shivers and roils, at the time and tide that is waiting for me. I will find the darkest rock to perch on and hold your life in my arms, as memories of you gather around me,  singing to me in time with the gentle waves lapping at my feet, while the pining seagulls drift on the arctic winds of winter overhead, I imagine the winds blowing down from Ireland today,  I don't know if that's even true. But this is an ode, and we're Irish, so we can say whatever we want to. 🍀 💛💚💘🍀 I will sta...

 the words of winter, hang, stay, freeze, warm stay again. my friend wrote about seasons, winter was long, and frost creeps into my brain, cartoon icy fingers, long and grey-blue, like icicles in the morning. Brittle, cold to touch, avoid if you can. 💘💙💥💦💟🐞🍀 I spent winters away from home, water pipes froze, fires stuttered and I did not have enough socks to cover my toes. I never imagined chills like this inside my bones startling my brain. Winter wass human fog stealthily invading your home at night. 💦💟🐞🍀💘💙💥 Alas, it ends. The friend who lives with us, first uninvited, then welcomed in all it's magnaminous glory, white-cold dawns, with clear blue days, that gently follows us about ... the silent companion, whispering promises of Spring, bring bright flowers and heady fragrances... until finally we cheerily wave, "Good-bye Winter," and secretly wish it doesn't come back too soon.

                                                 Image by  Giani Gheorghe  from  Pixabay  I have a friend, she's a Collapsologist, and before you laugh... there's such a thing they are for real, and here's what they do- measure the state of the Earth's collapse. I have a compassion certificate, it's real too. It says something like, I'm nice to everyone, all the time, day or night, it makes no difference. Collapse and compassion, they both get close to danger, they both get shot at, and the world still crumbles at their feet. "We have to take that danger shot," I tell my friend, as she crouches on the beach, measuring the rate of seaweed death. She picks up plastic rubbish when I go to feed the homeless, I pick up lives. Collapsologists help the planet to breathe, I help humanity eat. "The world is crying out for rescue," says my friend, the Co...

 I refuse to rant and get on the internet for a good old moan, or stay home laminating the state of a crumbling world as fresh rain masks the sun, and liberty begins to drown a little more each day. I won't waste my words on all the crooked politics the holey roads, not the God-kind of holy, the rip- off bloody supermarkets where wild dogs circle  hunger flaming from red eyes. in this wintery, nostril dripping weather that lurks outside my window, as hope sleeps fitfully in my doorway. I'll retire my TV to the dump, it can live there with all the other breaking news woes, while I unsubscribe from "headlines" and updates. I refuse to rant and lament, scroll and extoll about the coming doom or hide inside my room... while the world goes wild around me. I'm going to the beach to sip a cup of ocean, inhale the waves, scroll the horizon for cloud updates  as the autumn drizzle dampens my forehead, old tears and sweat rolling down my cheeks and off my shoulders. I thank...