"Bea is a lover of all things colorful whether it be people, places, or things. She loves filmmaking, writing, and curating Campbell Hall's art gallery, but also spends a considerable amount of time baking cakes and eating breakfast food.” ​

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Aglow

Tonight the hills burnt red, then white Trees cherried like wrapping paper in a Christmas fire Before returning to dust Mushrooms of grey, suffocations of black perfume Dragging something honest from broad, pink lungs Terrible in its grace, as personal as slipping a finger into someone else’s warm, open wound Intimate And I fell right through Sober with warmth, enclosed in its sacrificial beauty Gilded rocks and dead animals, fulgurating stars on earth When I woke up, my hand was asleep on my stomach and you were smiling like a person who just came home