18/52 Blue


A long time ago before I even knew where Sardinia was, one of my beloved aunts told me that if you see a white feather in your path, you should take it as a sign you are on the right road, as it was probably left there by an angel.

Since then I have often looked down, at cracked pavements and country lanes, searching for something left behind, by an angel, or perhaps by a  pigeon, as a helpful hint, a reminder to keep going.

On Saturday, under the blue skies stretching over our house in the Sardinian hills, I looked up instead of down, and found these feathers blessing us and our bumpy road, reminding me it is the right place to be.

Perhaps I should have told our neighbour, who double locks his doors and keeps a gun in the house, afraid that ISIS will arrive unannounced in the night.

When I heard this I thought of our home in Beirut, where we barely locked our door, and sometimes slept with the windows open onto the terrace, armed only with the sense that we were in the right place at the right time.



New York


I miss the deepness of blue stretching out
from the shores of Lebanon

The days when we could be Lazy Bs
doing nothing but watch the sea

But here I can lie on green grass
and watch the clear blue sky
framed by nothing but

looming skyscrapers
and intoxicating trees

While dreaming away
of the blue
that used to be
somewhere between my toes
and the parasol