Love Letters to Life

Home
Archive
About
NewTopDiscussion
Last night, while my sons lay safe and warm against me, listening to their bedtime story, children their age in Mariupol listened, frozen and terrified…
3
We live in overstimulated times, walking blindly through life staring at screens and using every moment of downtime to catch up on unending content…
3
1
It’s the beginning of March, and London is a dozen shades of grey fading into a sodden sky. The tubes are on strike, the trains are overcrowded, and the…
3
February is the cruellest month - the new year is long gone, taking resolution and enthusiasm with it. The cosy darkness of early January, inviting…
3
Seven Aprils ago, my first son was born. I went into hospital at the end of a long, heavy winter, and came out into a spring so bright and clear that we…
3
There's no place like home, but there's no place like a motel either. Home is a cocoon weaved from love and memories, but a motel is a blank canvas, a…
2
Sometimes, winter feels like a film shot on pale, desaturated stock. There's no sunrise at dawn, just an almost imperceptible lightening of the leaden…
2
In Baja California, I stumbled sleepily from an overnight bus as the sun rose over my first desert, silver in the morning light and white hot within the…
2
There’s a moment as you cross the Strand, waiting in the scrum of tourists and city workers as buses, taxis and bikes flow by, where, if you look up…
1
I love my bed and spend most of the day fantasising about collapsing into it, but sometimes when I wake I’m disappointed to find myself still in it and…
1
I always loved a new year and a new diary, its crisp blank pages ready for plans and intentions. This year, though, I looked out at the skeletal trees…
1
Portland Parish, Jamaica.
1
© 2022 Retts
Privacy ∙ Terms ∙ Collection notice
Publish on Substack Get the app
Substack is the home for great writing