A Chinese woman with faded green hair, she sits on the wall of the graveyard and calls out to me. as I pass. 'I was just thinking to myself, she has beautiful hair. You've got beautiful hair!'

This morning's pheasant is faded, past his best, but he still enjoys the seeds as much as he ever did.

she cries, and someone hugs her

I pick up the skin-coloured sesame seed from my wrist with the tip of my tongue.

fresh raspberry breakfast plucked from the canes

India's beautiful linea nigra drawn by who? on her blooming blossoming tum

..........sweet rain..........

Michael the plumber

He cups his ears to the tap and is quiet. 'You can hear the leak that way.'

red velvet mites perambulate the rolling hills and dips of paving stones

The way Tuesday began

Tongues of steam curl from my mostly-drunk tea. Outside a blackbird hops, yellow flowers exalt.

heatwave: everything pants

windowsill, evening

at the heart of the dead dark glass of wine, a bulb of shining red

Erin counts 27 ripe red raspberries

she cries for seven seconds, and then she is ashamed

too much of a good (sticky toffee pudding) thing

Overheard conversation about disappointment

-I just don't think that men think in the same way as women, to be honest.
-Oh no, no, they don't.

busy day.

pause. eat ice-lolly in the garden.

two girls

they speak soft Spanish in the waiting room

the lawn is clotted with clover, occasional buttercups

today I am a slug, a sloth, a slug

MEH!

Fatty spots a spotted thrush through the morning kitchen window.

After talking of death in a small room, I walk to the fish and chip shop. The church bells peal.

white foxgloves lean in the shade, hiding their dark scarlet spattered throats

a dark green plastic chair
the day rises up to hold me

A middle aged man wearing old-fashioned glasses, an ironed shirt and neatly combed hair, he shows me his 'before' photo. A bearded drunk, raging.

Leaving Slough

the carpet warehouses go on and on.....

English breakfasts taste best when scoffed with friends

I thought daily small stones were weighing my pockets down. Instead they tether me to the world, lightly.

putting me off my Orangina

the fingerprint fossil of a lipstick stain on the lip of the glass

my hand around the waist of this sexy Fanta bottle woman

This blackbird with a snapped and sticking-out wing feather has been spotted several times in the past week, hopping under the feeders for seed. I worry about her.