Quiet. 3am.

Clara Flo

16 Feb 2026 — 1 min read

Julia's wall in the morning light

The house ticks.

I step over the yoga mat left on the upstairs landing. Past the baskets of clean washing I am yet to put away.

Julia’s door has been left ajar. I close it. My eyes slip away from her empty bed. She’s taken the posters down.

Downstairs, the kettle clicks.

Hot milo. Lounge. Weighted blanket.

The cat prowls. He yells at me, determined to go out. When I obey he instantly scratches and knocks on the door to be let back in again.

The vet said it might be cat dementia.

Google says he might be monitoring his territory.

I wonder if, like me, he is looking for Michael.

Read more

Fairy Meadow beach

Fairy Meadow beach

Uneven The sand piles up in giant peaks. Wind gusts onshore from the South East, blowing shards of sand into my face. I leave my shoes at the foot of the dunes. Feet sink into the shifting sands. Trudge down the slope to the space near the flags - determined

looking at art

looking at art

I like looking at art. I like going to the gallery to look at the pictures. I like to read the labels and learn about the context in which it was created. I like to look at the art again - see if reading the label has shifted the way

8 months

8 months

It’s 8 months today. On 21 June Michael died at home. On 27 June I went to the funeral home to help wash his body and dress him. The girls came to meet me in the chapel. Michael was there in his coffin, waiting for us, so the girls

Are women actually people?

Are women actually people?

What do women want? No doubt this famous Freud quote is apocryphal. But, as a society, it seems we have found the answer. Women want to go to a fancy event and have their dress unzipped for a ‘joke,’ by a prince of the realm. They want to be called