How to explain summer | Britta Benson

I live in Scotland. This makes any description of summer a little impractical. Borderline delusional. Here, this season doesn’t succumb to the obvious crowdpleasing heat – that would be far too simple. There is, however, the notion of robust excitement that seems to spread in a swell from tip to toe, from top to bottom and sideways. Especially sideways!

The wave meant well, fast,

approached the sand castle. Joy!

A dash of summer.


 Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Meaning of life | Britta Benson

When I write, I like to go for the simple themes. Life, death. Easy victories, sitting still, patiently waiting right next to the rather more complicated scenarios of this ever expanding universe. Like: how to tie my shoelaces so that they won’t come undone halfway into my run. Or: how to convince the slugs that my garden is not an all you can possibly eat buffet. One of my all time favourite little things to ponder is the meaning of life. I believe, I’m very nearly there.

We are meant to be

creative, share from the heart,

play, fail, breathe, love. Free.


 Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Clouds | Britta Benson

We have tried to see what’s not there since before the beginning of time even ended. Sky, our open minded companion, our vast context of who knows what, invites liminal thoughts from all sides to puff up like smoke signs. Could those intriguing tufts and fluffballs really be just gathered up water drops and ice crystals floating high above our heads? Surely, there’s more to this white quickening. I’m intrigued. I stare. I see.

Gulls glide through new ghosts,

footprints of past souls traverse,

release future hope.


 Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Three years into grief | Britta Benson

Three years into grief I can sleep. I still

wonder how much boxed up stuff I will need

to remember you, me, lives, a childhood

spent in my cousin’s clothes and 70s wallpaper.

Orange, not my thing. I try to hold on to time,

letters, photographs, pretend I can pull you

right back by keeping shoes, that picture you drew

in your hospital art class. You asked

for Rembrandt’s ‘Night Watch’, but settled for cows.

I’ve become the curator of your museum.

What was yours, now treasured dead weight,

collecting dust. Three years into grief I sense you

in the light of the sun, solstice rain. You howl

through my soul like a storm with your stale breath.


Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

A life in 100 words or less | Britta Benson

The highlights?

Dates. Births, deaths, marriages. Did I get the order all wrong?

This big stuff stands in the way of insignificant, lifechanging miracles, that could never have happened and therefore were the most likely events from the start.

I met you, when I shouldn’t have. Couldn’t have. And yet… yet!

Just like that…

… because the weather was better than expected,

… because I’d gone stir-crazy in my flat,

… because you wanted to fly a kite, which didn’t make any sense.

We live and love, one small detail after another… a life in 100 words or less.


Britta Benson is a happiness & poetry blogging, circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as the poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Spring cleaning | Britta Benson

The kitchen…

Nightmare!

So many things.

It takes a great many paraphernalia to make

baked beans on burnt toast.

The living room…

Full of unread books I don’t trust.

They lead exciting lives.

I swear, they have parties late at night, out of spite!

The hearts…

Hoarders, greedy.

Could do with a rummage,

spot of Swedish death cleaning.

I’m afraid, Marie Kondo won’t do.

‘Does this spark joy?’ – the wrong question.

Sell? Donate? Recycle? Chuck the lot in the bin?

I know… Postpone.

Good things come to those who wait.

Spring cleaning?

Perhaps in June.

Or, we could build an extension.


Britta Benson is a happiness & poetry blogging, circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as the poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Pondering | Britta Benson

Reeds and rushes, we,

like moorhens, whisper

red billed truths through

debris, duckweed. Reflections

of our freshwater hearts

flash white and echo

the bottom of our soul,

forever present, forever secret.


Britta Benson is a happiness & poetry blogging, circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as the poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Friend | Britta Benson

I walked barefoot next to you along the beach

and we stopped to look at a stranded jellyfish.

I felt the softest sand between my toes

and the strongest bond between our souls.

I stared silently into horizons through your eyes

and we sat on that wooden bench forever

until the sun got bored and went for a dive.

I shared a poke of chips with you in a crowd,

joined by local pigeons, starlings and a sparrow.

We solved the problems of the universe

until the last bus drove you back home.


Britta Benson is a happiness & poetry blogging, circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as the poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

The sailing boat | Britta Benson

The sea takes a swig at me.

I rise and fall,

naughty waves tickle my belly unashamedly,

then slap me in the face.

Dreams sting forever.

I like it rough.

I breathe freedom

sandwiched between elements,

a traveller,

bobbing for adventure,

not meant to be anchored, chained.

Let me be.


Britta Benson is a happiness & poetry blogging, circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as the poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Peace | Britta Benson

I listen to the wind

and hope for answers in all directions.

Cold waves crash through blackened rocks,

some snarl in the frill of bold white crests

while others whisper,

licking pebbles on the beach

with salty, swirling tongues.

I carry the life that never was

to the smooth dark shingles

piled up high in the pit of my heart

and finally make peace with my self.


Britta Benson is a happiness & poetry blogging, circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as the poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.