Are You There Spring? It’s Me, Colleen....

Mar 11, 2015 by

  I feel like I’m poking my head out of my bomb shelter for the first time, or like I’m a turtle emerging from her shell after a particularly brash jostling. Yesterday, I saw grass for the first time in months! Today, I wore a light spring coat! Today the steering wheel of my car wasn’t painfully frigid! Today, I didn’t have to scrape ice and snow off my car in order to drive! Exclamation! I hope I’m not speaking too soon. I hope that in writing this post, I’m not dooming myself to another snowstorm. But I’m just too excited. The warming days and promise of new blossoms to come made me think of sunnier days and cute flowers in Mongolia. Here you go.     When in doubt, talk about the weather,...

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Details Of, Various.

Dec 9, 2014 by

Feeling a little drained lately, void of inspiration. Do we all ebb and flow like this? In the interim of my blank brain, let us focus on the little things in life.     Where is your creativity at these days? How do you cope with the lulls? _____________________________________________________________________________________ Please like my Facebook page, and don’t forget to follow me on twitter and Instagram...

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A Study Of Sky (Two)

Jan 21, 2014 by

“Things are getting better,” he said. Several empty beer bottles sat on the table in front of us. A trail of smoke rose from his cigarette leaning nonchalantly in the ashtray. I could just make out the clinking of the chips from our backgammon game over the sounds of the jungle and the sporadic downpours around us. I took a sip of my beer, the bottle sweating profusely in my hand. He spoke in grand terms, on a global scale, of our planet’s collective conscience. Things are getting better. He smiled confidently, took a long drag of his cigarette and politely blew the smoke away from me. He rolled the dice. Look almost anywhere on the internet these days – blogs of all nature, trend articles, celebrity pages – and you will see talk of “living...

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Oh, Mr. Sandman…

Oct 21, 2013 by

Outside, the trees scrape against each other, the branches moaning, the leaves clinging onto the last bit of hope, the last trim of colour. The sky behind fades from a cloudy white to a murky grey, a terribly black. My cat stretches beside me, arching her back. As I pour another glass of wine, hearing the wind tickle the window panes, I think of carved pumpkins and trick or treaters and scary movies and too much candy. Always having been a fan of scary movies and giving myself the heebie-jeebies, I am going to take this chance to pay homage to all the places I’ve visited this past summer that made my skin crinkle and crawl, that made my imagination birth stories of murderers and ghosts and creeping shadows and all that is, to...

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Mongolian Grub: The Good, The Bad & The VERY Bad...

Sep 22, 2013 by

He was French, from Paris, and when I met him, I stuttered a little because he looked so much like Johnny Depp. I almost couldn’t keep my cool. But the more we spoke, the more I realised how lovely and nonjudgmental he was, so I was able to relax a little, knowing he actually wasn’t Johnny Depp. We spoke English and French, and even though I tripped over my words in French, he told me my French was good. Earlier at the hostel in Ulaanbaatar, I had heard a story about him. He sat outside his ger eating breakfast, and two Mongolian men had grabbed a sheep and were carrying it – one by its front legs, the other by its back legs. Without realising what was happening, the Frenchman watched as a third...

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