Between. Not here, not there, not anywhere. That’s what I feel like when I travel, especially when I travel alone, which is how it is mostly these days. In transit I am someone else; I am subtly different. I am an extension of my bags, a parcel of possibility. The responsibility for getting ‘there’ is outside … Continue reading Between
Flying out of Northern Ireland from the airport in the countryside, not the one in the city by the shore of Belfast Lough. There’s half a moon, drifting escapes of black cloud blowing like scraps of burnt paper, and our ascent is long and low enough for me to pick out towns, or to try. … Continue reading Night Flight
I’m in transit. Three horrible words: the act or fact of passing through; passage or conveyance from one place to another, as of persons or goods. This morning I’m definitely falling into the ‘goods’ category. I feel less of a person and more of a sack with a heartbeat. I feel like a DHL package, stuck … Continue reading In Transit
My Edinburgh Press 