Notes from the beach, written when there is something worth saying — and not before.
I know nothing about geology. I collect them because they are pretty — and lately I have started to wonder whether that is enough. (It is.)
There is a quiet pressure to make every new piece bigger, better, more complicated. I am trying to refuse it.
On the colour of a wave just before it breaks, and the stones I brought home from a grey morning.
A few gentle notes on living with a piece made from a found stone, so it stays with you a long time.
Why I began Aplotita, and what I am hoping it can be — a small act of devotion to ordinary things.
