Squaring the circle

Finding Pi. A Sunday morning coffee shop – away from home, telephones and distractions – is often a pleasant place to undertake reflections when there arise those situations in which reflection becomes necessary. There is something different about Sunday morning – even better than Saturday morning – due, possibly to the


“She had me at 'Hello, I'm Catherine'.” He reproached himself, even in the act of the confession which, newly admitted, had nevertheless been a reality from the moment of the encounter. She had extended a slender hand with long fingers which he had taken, feigning disinterest. “She must have known it, too. There is no way

A story that tells itself

Some would refer to me and, perhaps, not incorrectly, as a creature of habit. It is a fact that, in my usual and necessary meanderings to the local shops, I tend to follow a path already beaten down and worn clean by my own shoes. It may be that this habitual and somewhat automatic routine leaves my mind a little freer, while normally some soft


This box in thin, paper-covered, cardboard, labeled with some long-forgotten shoe brand, dusty, half-crushed many times over and closed with a dry, cracked elastic band, is overstuffed near to bursting with accumulated detritis – the collected jetsam or physical projection into photo printed or enveloped reality - of a life, now existing