Yuma, Welcome to the Crepuscular Hour: the liminal spaces of dawn and dusk. Thank you for meeting me here. Speaking of liminal spaces, Happy Halloween. I hope that your week has been full of ancestor connection and treats. For those of you who prefer to be lulled by the lilt
Yuma From Naarm/Melbourne, Where I have been retracing neural pathways in the city that built me. The city that I ran away from ten years and one month ago. Happy anniversary to leaving. To blossoming, blooming. What does it mean to visit home? To be home? To build a
Yuma, Since you and I last spoke, we have hurtled through two eclipses: a season of shedding. And if the double eclipses didn't help you slough off expired identities, perhaps the changing weather did: welcome to the transition seasons. Wildflower season for those of us in South-Eastern
Yuma, I once read that in the Wurundjeri traditional seasons, "winter" isn't considered a barren time at all. Rather it's a time of relatively high rainfall. Of fecundity, growth, and abundance. And I've also noticed, now that I'm living in
Happy Solar New Year lovers, If you would prefer to listen to this newsletter, you can find the audio version below. June Musings0:00/492.11× A prayer for the year's nadir I hope the year's nadir is helping you to shed old skins. Here in
Yuma friend, We made it to May, you and I. I know you are bombarded with information, and it means the world to me that you include this little newsletter among the media that bombards you. I am writing this with a tiny little girl on my chest. She is
Yuma, Since we last met, I had a perfect little baby girl named Ember. She came premature, and the subsequent twelve days under the glow of hospital lights was fascinating for the anthropologist inside me, but excruciating for the forest goblin. This newsletter iteration comes with a bit of a
Yuma, I hope your March has been gentle. If you have been reading the news or buying petrol, it likely hasn’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry the world is like this. Thank you for taking some time out of the tumult to read or listen to my little
Yuma Friends, Happy February. And I’m sorry about February. I’m sorry about the news. I’m sorry about the heatwaves and the cold snaps. I’m sorry about the terrible astrology, which is ripping through my community in the form of bushfires, gastro, flus, and terribly busy work
Yuma Friends, Happy New Year! Happy Solar New Year! Thank you for joining me here in 2026. It is a delight to squirrel away these pockets of time with you. I'm so grateful you're still taking time with my little newsletter. The title, “the Crepuscular Hour”
Yuma Friends Thank you for meeting me here. Thank you for letting my little writing practice into your home these past few months, and helping me to imagine what a joyful creative practice might feel like. The title, “the Crepuscular Hour” comes from a twice-daily phenomenon: the light just
Yuma friends, thank you for meeting me here. This is the place where I share my current practice, as well as the work of others that are lighting me up. The title, the Crepuscular Hour comes from a twice-daily phenomenon: the light just before sunset and just after sunrise.
Yuma friends, Thank you for meeting me here. This is the place where I share my current practice, as well as the work of others that are lighting me up. The title, “the Crepuscular Hour” comes from a twice-daily phenomenon: the light just before sunset and just after sunrise.
Yuma friends, Thank you for being here. This is a place where I will share my current practice, as well as work by others that is lighting me up. It is the main place where I will be sharing my work for a while: as I recalibrate and reimagine a