Thursday, February 23

Monday, September 22

Thursday, August 14

Called up the stairs - the offer of a second cup of tea.

Saturday, August 9

impatiently scrubbing a layer of dirt from this bench
before I can paint it the colour of cornflowers

Friday, August 8

In Shelford deli

Nana asks for one bakewell tart for now
and two to take home for later.
I like her style.

Thursday, August 7

Wednesday, August 6

poor hydrangea
toppled by too-heavy blooms & the gusty wind

Tuesday, August 5

Monday, August 4

two small girls on pink bicycles. one has got the knack - she sways from side to side as she pedals faster and faster, laughing. the other keeps losing her nerve, slowing, putting down her feet. their mum watches from the park bench, tightening their pink helmets, saying encouraging words. the girl who is biking fast falls off, her mum runs to pick her up, holds her, and sets her down when she's ready. she gets back on. they both keep on biking.

Sunday, August 3

a faint dragging pain in my lower back
the percussive sound of Fatty scratching
wind moving bits of the garden around
hunger pulls me away from the screen

Saturday, August 2

just before sleep
the vertical gold slash in our nembutsu painting
the friendly pillar-box red of my drying cotton trousers

Friday, August 1

Sitting meditation with the doors open

Cool air keeps returning to brush against my bare right arm. Thoughts skip past - outside coming in and inside going out, where is the boundary?

Thursday, July 31

The pigeon's hollow coo-coooo-coo coo coo floats through my open window. The trees rustle, surreptitiously. My computer fan whirs on and on.

Tuesday, May 20

on returning to my room I'm met by a cloud of rosy bergamot - my morning cup of tea has filled the room

Tuesday, February 11

The squirrel draws a delicate wavy line across the lawn with its body and luxurious tail as it heads towards the bird feeder. The rain is soaking everything. Downstairs the hoover screams.

Monday, February 10

bubbles and pain and grief rise up, triggered by something that is nothing. i sit on the stairs and wait for them to pass.

Sunday, February 9


she sprays at the ice on her windscreen as if making a piece of art

Saturday, February 8


she tells us again the story of when she met her husband, the story of when the naughty teenagers ran through her garden, the story of the bats, the story of when he was called up during the war. most of the objects in her house are older than me.

Friday, February 7

sometimes all children (even the quiet ones) are too noisy

Thursday, February 6

my empty stomach speaks to me in a low voice. the radio sings and soothes.

Wednesday, February 5

Tuesday, February 4

translucent heart, light streaming through, a pink butterfly cyclamen just alighted

Monday, February 3

we are held up for an hour as the Albion football fans file out. there are rows of indian sweet shops and exquisite glittering saris and suits for princes. all these people and their lives.

Sunday, February 2

this morning's gift

two leaves on the front doormat - stalks looking suspiciously like tails

Saturday, February 1

Friday, January 31

these ruched velvety carnations, the colour of ripe plums

Thursday, January 30

curled up just outside the office in her usual favourite spot, I can hear her deep metronomic purrs from here

Wednesday, January 29

I buy a scone because they say 'vegan' and I don't see that word very often in cafes. I don't really have any room for the scone. I eat it and it is delicious. My too-full stomach panics and I continue eating.

Tuesday, January 28

I still haven't gone out into the garden to see those hellebores...

Monday, January 27

logging on, I'm dismayed to see that my last small stone was written five days ago...