It is strange
How with so few
Different variations,
The whole Earth
Can shift around
And face you from
Yet one more direction.

As, when the sun is on your skin
You remember the cold as only thought
As if it had never really happened in any reality
But your own.

I have taken the same walk
– Step for step –
Three months apart,
And the only similarity was me.
And even I was only just.

It is a journey we are on; these lives of ours,
Each step along the paved and wild ways
Are more than enough proof
For any man, woman
Or child (who is older than their years).


Virginia Woolf’s ‘To The Lighthouse’



This is the only book of Virginia Woolf’s that I have read, and I really enjoyed it. Her style is called a ‘Stream of Consciousness’, and this is exactly what it is. The narration flows softly from psyche to psyche, and if you’re not careful then you’re carried all the way through the novel.

It is the story of a Victorian holiday home, and the family that inhabits it. What I really admire about Woolf’s writing is the way she can make the characters so disconnected from each other, and yet you can still feel the characters’ frustrations so vividly. It is clear why she has become a household name to so many, and I would happily read more of her style!