Please click ‘like’ when you read…

I have no idea to whom this photo should be attributed. It came in an email.

I have been enjoying my coffee even more now, as I have been grinding the coffee myself.. No more coffee grounds that have lost lots of flavour.

It’s something my Dad did. Milling the coffee beans, and making filter coffee. Weekend mornings. I don’t know what my mother was doing. I never sought out her company. I sought out my Dad, and the comfortable silence we shared.

I don’t want my Dad to be forgotten when I die. My daughter will remember him, but she’s quite different to me. Though when I was her age I did not have nostalgia, except for Germany. I still pine for Germany.

The terrible tension is my leg has abated, though I can still sense the nerve path it followed. I had a rough 48 hours, with sleep at very strange times. But I am here.

On Friday I spent an hour and forty minutes on the phone, trying to sort something out. I don’t recommend this. Especially when the music while you’re put on hold has a fast beat. Your stress levels go up as your heart beats faster…

I have yet more plants. I have nowhere to put them. And two cyclamen are missing. I can’t find where my daughter put them.

Everyone is fretting about when they’ll get their vaccine. They worry they will be missed. I, and some others, are not worried. We won’t get missed out.

I have snowdrops. I look forward to my daffodils. But snowdrops are so delicate and understated.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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