Friday, September 30
Show-off
A bottomless triangle of geese flap over a line of trees. The trees are mostly wearing a subtle dark green, but one show-off is basking in a deep orangey pink.
Thursday, September 29
My favourite bit of the view from the window
The small sliver of blue between the crest of the grey slate roof and the window-frame, white stripes with frayed edges moving from left to right.
Wednesday, September 28
All is well
The toaster painting the bread golden, a black cat washing on the window-seat and pausing to tilt his whiskers up into the sun. Coffee in the pot. A warm house, a day full of good work lying itself before me.
Tuesday, September 27
Monday, September 26
Brewing rain
The air is growing thicker. When it solidifies into heavy drops it'll fall on her wrists and cheeks and remind her of looking out of windows into the dark.
Sunday, September 25
Last night
Last night a man jumped from a hospital window. Too late to offer him this morning's small stone.
Saturday, September 24
White
: A sharp ribbon of aeroplane exhaust, growing towards the horizon
: Soft mounds of early mist, mistaken at first for pale-twigged shrubs
: A plastic bag hunched on the verge, imitating roadkill
: Soft mounds of early mist, mistaken at first for pale-twigged shrubs
: A plastic bag hunched on the verge, imitating roadkill
Friday, September 23
Thursday, September 22
Dirty
As she picked up the cellophane packet of 'unwashed rocket' that had fallen from her supermarket trolley she felt a pink flash of shame.
Wednesday, September 21
People often do
I only have £1.20 in my pocket, and a diet coke costs £1.40. I ask him if he could give me a little less for £1.20 - he says he can't really do that, but gives me a 'mixer' coke for 75p. He finds a way to help me, as people often do if you give them the chance.
Tuesday, September 20
On the table
A pencil, a ball-point pen, small yellow notes that stick themselves wherever you want. Leather gloves, sunglasses, a CD brim-full of music. A glass half full of water, from a tap ten paces away. A pink mobile phone! So many things to take for granted.
Monday, September 19
the small pieces of polystyrene on the road
are dancing as if they are making their own decisions about where they move next
Sunday, September 18
The first hint of hat-weather
The burgundy woollen hat has patiently sat out the summer, waiting to be useful again.
Saturday, September 17
Deep blue
Moving pictures of a lazy turtle, a rainbow of fishes, tissue paper jellyfish, gardens of coral. Moving pictures from 5000 feet down!
Friday, September 16
Child's picture in felt tip
On the bottom left, a rainbow that goes orange, green, blue, red, yellow, orange, green. A shooting star across the centre with a short tail like a skirt. A red and yellow diagonally-striped sun with rays pointing out in all directions, bad hair day. On the bottom right, tucked away, a squashed earth: the green islands surrounded by deep blue, the colour of night.
Thursday, September 15
Tiny grey fish
A dull rainy day after weeks of sunshine unlocks bubbles of sadness from the people walking from shop to shop. It floats up around their faces like shoals of tiny grey fish.
Wednesday, September 14
T-shirt weather
She is dressed in a mid-length dark buttoned up overcoat and a pale green headscarf. She takes small steps, straight-backed, as if she might fall over. She is out of time, and out of season.
Tuesday, September 13
Tattoo on an 18 yr old
He wanted to get a small one first, but he's going to get some bigger ones. The blackened skin is still raised in weals. It'll live with him for all the years he has left.
Monday, September 12
Something more important
Blodges on the pavement: baked pink chewing gum, orangey butts folded over on themselves, crumpled and glinting silver paper. They refuse to be beautiful, insisting they have something more important to tell us.
Sunday, September 11
Saturday, September 10
Friday, September 9
walking to buy bread
the sun dissolves the wrinkles on my forehead like an iron gently pressing down onto linen with a hissssssss
Thursday, September 8
Wednesday, September 7
At The Vyne, Basingstoke
The planks beneath me lift and creak as two ladies sink their bottoms onto the bench beside me. 'Ah... it's a long way down, and a long way back up again'. They sit and watch the butterflies kissing the purpley-blue verbena over and over. The summer is nearly over. One of them lets out a word like blowing a perfect soap-bubble: 'bliss'.
Tuesday, September 6
Monday, September 5
Sunday, September 4
Mesenbryanthemum
The leaves grew low and plump as if filled with sap. It's sat deformed and fat in its pot for months. I've planned but not got round to throwing it out. The flowers started last week, a thrilling shock, violently pink.
Saturday, September 3
Friday, September 2
what the smell is saying
I move to overtake him on the pavement and am pulled up when I enter the cloud of his smell. I look closer and notice the stain on the back of his T-shirt and his uncared-for wispy hair. I wonder what the smell is saying - 'it's better for me if you stay back', or 'it's better for you if you stay back'. Or maybe it's too tired or broken down to say anything.
Thursday, September 1
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