he painted horses. Blue horses with vibrant flanks
and curving backs like distant hills...
I had always known that there was something ‘abnormal’ about myself, something that was a little off-kilter. I can’t quite grasp whether this manifested as positive or negative, but I know that I didn’t fit in; my early memories are that of being a square peg, an unfortunate position. Unfortunate because society offered me naught but a round hole.
I am binding myself to these trees
my side will stay pressed
tight and strong to coarse
and dark bark...
An ever-increasing lack of dexterity had Patricia still tying her dressing gown as she shuffled into the kitchen, a task she used to be able to complete before the end of the hallway, and before then the bedroom door.