Writing. Heather Darkside

One or two technical hitches!

Heather Darkside



A small miracle sprouted inside. My first baby had decided upon me, and descended from her twinkling star on a clear and icy winter’s night. I smoothed warm hands across my belly and smiled at my darling “Pip.” Safely ensconced in her watery world and nourished with never ending love.

That early spring in Belgium Pip and I beat the birds at the nesting game, and the young and tender buds from uncurling. Together we strolled on the clear cold mornings through the mediaeval nunnery, where she was conceived. And where nowadays visiting academics to the University of Leuven reside. I smiled like the Gioconda at every warm red brick, window casing and clog worn cobble. The gracious, wimple bedecked buildings noted my ability to slip through time. They nodded their consent at my glowing, but preoccupied, prying eyes. Then blessed me and prayed for my morals. A…

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