Welcome to Glimpses into Words in Winter, a weekly showcase of writings from some of the talented presenters and authors joining us for this year’s festival.
This week, we feature excerpts from Crone Theatre’s upcoming play reading ‘Something Happened on the Way to Enlightenment, Part 1 &2’. Building on last year’s Words in Winter dramatised play reading CRONE Theatre is back on Sunday 30 August from 4pm- 5:30pm at Radius Art. Book your tickets
Explore the full festival lineup www.wordsinwinter.com
Excerpts from Crone Theatre
She sits and stares out to infinite sunset
waiting on the moon to light her path.
She pushes her world through universal streets
in eternal storm rabbit holes and looking glass.
She stands on the edge of a cliff
buffeting overload she is brave.
She hides quietly in the darkness downstairs
hoping he will never find her he who needs her pain.
She runs her business endlessly inside the swamp
while raising her kids in a colour-blind state.
She is tired of being quiet tired of waiting for the moon
aching for her earth-wise knowledge to be heard.
A soft clicking, the key turns
her voice finally unlocks her world.
Last night, the name Norm Peanut rings out in my dream. I see a large single whole peanut up close and in great detail, with its brown fibres sticking out and small grooves in the shell. The peanut morphs into Norm’s head. And in the background, there’s everyday jokes about his name, that I ignore.
Eighty. Twenty. Twenty. Eighty. Twenty—you’re on the edge of all possibilities. Eighty—you’re on the edge. You’re on the edge…of……well, at the other edge. Still with possibilities that you would not have dared to think about at 20.
My iPhone has eaten my brain. It counts my steps. It tells me I have a meeting at 4pm even though I didn’t tell it that I had a meeting. And it’s got its eye on me all the time.
I think I feel my ancestors
every now and then wafting scents of roses, cinnamon, lavender
wind in my face shift in the earth beneath my feet.
‘She’s dreaming again off with the fairies’
I’m sitting outside myself.
Trees strive to reach the clouds that
Descend as mist Soaking the unofficial salvage yard behind me
That supplies the rats that ate my oven.
