My hand freezes, unable to knock. A moment of lucidity. I breathe. I study the hand, hoping it will bring me something. My hand is becoming my mother’s and my mother’s hands are becoming my grandmother’s. Does this imply some wisdom? Maybe my hand will rescue me, if I let it. If only it could…
Hidden behind the old wooden door, my courtyard sanctuary. Cool and quiet. I am safe from the hustle of the office to eat my lunch. Here there is serenity and peace. I dare to switch off my phone. I will not be contacted. I will not be found. The small wall fountain gurgles away my…
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Text & stories © Joanna Sterling
Stories © various authors
Editing by Joanna Sterling & Alyson Faye
Audio by Menna Bonsels
Brooch photography by Mark Colliton
Website by Brighton WEBtech