MysticDevon.com

Hi, I'm Sarah Adams. I moved to Plymouth in 1983, to study Literature and Philosophy at Marjons. After I finished my degree I decided not to return to my native Surrey, but set up home here, to be near the moors and the sea. I met my partner John in 1990. We have 2 children. I spent a number of their school years home educating, which took up a big part of my life. I think I learnt as much or more during that time as I did when I was at school! With my partner I have worked at many camps and festivals. In past years we gigged at these and locally, and still do a lot of drumming. I am also very involved with voluntary and community work. The other great loves in my life are my horse, and walks in our beautiful countryside, and in Plymouth's green spaces, both of which inspire my long-held pagan beliefs. Throughout all of these years of course, has been books and writing. From straining my eyes to read under the bedclothes with a torch as a child, to my degree, to more recently becoming involved with various writing groups in the city, including Cross Country Writers. I wrote and produced a poetry booklet in the 1990s, and had a story published in the Herald earlier this year. I have some work about to be considered for a local anthology, have plans to produce a children's book, and hope to publish more of my poetry.

For enquiries regarding her work, Sarah may be contacted via e-mail.

sarah.purple1@yahoo.co.uk.

A Gift of Flowers
Abandoned? Maybe....
Quick look around.....
They are in the GREEN bin after all...
Pick off the broken petals, good as new. And free!
Another glance around....must be fate, it's her birthday tomorrow, and me with no money!
Red roses.
Her favourite....
Come on then, act casual, just stroll by and whip them out. Ther's no one much around. God is smiling on me today, with his gift of recycled red roses, especially for her....

That's it, got them!. Smoothly done! Slip the whole bunch into my cloth shoulder bag, that's fitting, it's the sort you use over and over again.
Now, to get to her before it gets too late. No bus fare, about an hour's walk. Glancde at the sky; grey and threatening-but a tinge of pink over there in the west-must be another sign. She's waiting for me.

Hot and bothered despite the chill, I've made it. Pick off those tatty petals; one or two yellowowing leaves too. Tidy up the bunch; want them to look their best for you.

10 years. 10 years today. I place the shining red roses, with the greatest care, on your plain solid headstone, and sit on the damp springy turf. Still miss you Mum.