A wasted day
When weather change from freezing into thaw the ice below moans melodies as if in pain. When anger of the wind turn faces puce and raw we huddle leeward from […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
My grandmother’s plates
In my grandmother’s room always lingered a fragrance I only learned late was from turpentine and linseed oil but the flowers she crafted on platters and bowl I noticed… I […]
Ox weeks
This weekend we worked in the garden burning the branches that had been building over the past few years. A rare sunshine glanced through the trees and a scent of […]
A Monday in June
It was never how the sea bit at my ankles or how the kelp of its fingers were trying vain pulling me down that made me see how like angels […]
Midnight walking
Her path across the garden is from moonlight moth-winged; barefoot-firm she’s neither fragile nor she’s fleeing, she’s only searching luminescence for her flaming flesh. She knows his scent of cinnamon […]
