Vocare is to invoke and to beckon.

I am beckoning here:

I write for my life, finding words have been taken to strife, when the real root was a butter knife to wipe fresh clotted cream upon a bun from the bakery down the lane when the dairymaid came to stay.

The story here is of a man who I found on a desert sand along a cove, looking tan. He had come to man, looking all grand and he did land…..

….somewhere else in a far off cove.

He missed the X spot I had drawn in the sand as an S.O.S plan. Oops….

I traveled across his hand, a mountain terrain band of crevices and ravines, caves and pits it seems to find out why…..

…..he missed the spot.

Was a word taken wrong?

I travelled with a dog, a cat, two parakeets and a cantankerous daughter keeping me on land.

Iona Costello is a widow who became a multi-­‐lingual researcher after being a dairymaid. From the mountains of the Alpines, home of the Gruyere wheel she took on the intrigue fair of microbiology to how we came about here, a linguistical tack spanning cultures of the mac…. The son, the mackintosh and the macron, the capped o, places we can’t go.