I’m riding with the sun to my life’s longest day, one eye to the moon at my back, drawing me down into winter’s deep waters, where every year it’s harder to rise again to the surface, weighted by my bones. But the sun pulls me into buoyant warmth and I emerge again to its bright promise, skimming like a water-boatman over a mirrored pond, where hope flits like a dragonfly, for an iridescent moment as lilies bloom and hungry carp pout at mayflies and gulp down their brief day, as dark engulfs light beneath its inky tide that recedes as the sun’s rays flood back to melt night’s icy rime and everything dormant under dank rocks and stones stirs anew with life, as tadpoles shapeshift into frogs, mating and croaking at the sun with rusty winter voices as the seasons ebb and flow with the unchanging rhythm of solstice.
Kate Meyer-Currey was born in 1969 and moved to Devon in 1973. A
varied career in frontline settings has fueled her interest in gritty urbanism, contrasted with a rural upbringing. Her ADHD also instills a sense of ‘other’ in her life and writing.