Monday, 21 November 2016


digital illustration by amy leonard

Sitting on trains looking out of windows at the rain is enough for me. We talk about unravelling, like when a yarn becomes disentangled and unwoven from its piece, or when a life frays about the seams. But what about ravelling? Winding up like a thread onto a spool? Like working lace into a knot?

In the dark the train makes slow progress. And I think everyone can see that I’m wound up tight, knot-like. Though, I’ve spent so long travelling I’ve started untravelling. It’s like the curiosity that makes the cat roam, they plot a new map and they never come home.