Bang

The buds on the magnolia trees are pink-tinted and fat. I'd like to pull up a chair and wait for them to go bang.

Daisy

The fingernail on her littlest 5 week old finger is so tiny I can't think of anything small enough to compare it to.

Anorexic runner

His legs are all bone and sinew, and he's running along the pavement with a rucksack on his back. Running towards something, or away from something else.

Clues

The whole school of girls is lined up in rows, the ones at the back propped up on wooden steps. One of them shakes her hair between shots, wanting to look her best, not thinking about the years ahead when she'll be taking this photo out and studying the faces, looking for clues.

ding-dong

as the bells ding-dong one pigeons follows another along the pavement, dodging imaginary obstables

stepping out into the morning

the earth admits it is finally ready for the daffodils to be gently warmed into yellow bursts

Dart like fish

Reflections of dry-ice clouds drift across the mirror of the car windscreen, to a back-drop of sunshot blue. The occassional dark shape of birds dart like fish.

wide window looking out on an apple tree

she sits all morning watching cat TV and the blue-tit watches back

fading hyacinth

the first sign of the dying is its sweet breath carrying a hint of rot

mid-afternoon wake-up call

the sudden green of broccoli-tinted water before it curls down the silver drain

All about home

There are rows of knee-high lights on either side of the path leading towards the block of flats, where people hang towels from their balconies and watch TVs behind their closed curtains. They choose the exact moment I walk past to turn themselves on. They know all about failing light, and all about home.

'Man in a Wheelbarrow' by Annora Spence

Two men meet in the road as if by chance - one on a unicycle with a large bird under his arm, the other in a wheelbarrow with a smaller bird perched on his head. The man on the unicycle is juggling, the whellbarrow man is blowing a trumpet. The men are both wearing neat bowler hats. The hill behind them is a gorgeous rosy orange, and there are two dark poplars on the horizon. This is a universe I can understand.

nearly there

blackcurrant sorbet and strawberry ice-cream, the sun on my face

The first anemone

Not too sure if it wants to risk the weather just yet, its head is bent forwards towards the earth. Its petals are the blue of a child's paddling pool, full to the brim and ready for squealing and splashing.

lit before writing

blown out, the candle kicks out a last burst of cinammon scent

show off

the hyacinth held its petals together yesterday so it could burst into full flower overnight and show off its vivid blues like a can-can girl in the morning

watching people from a riverside cafe

two teenage girls with pierced lips
a tv celebrity with his white-blond wife
a pair of swaggering security men
a mother on the phone, her small daughter anxious
three old friends competing for air space
all of us want to be seen
all of us want to be known

weather

outside: cold and grey
inside: changeable

Afternoon

The cat won't rest until he's let into the linen cupboard.

two

two rabbits running across the crest of the hill
two pheasants waiting to cross the road
two rooks overhead, wheeling

a bird

Even on a slow dull morning a bird slices the air with its honeycomb body

Girl walking through the underpass

She must be about twelve or thirteen and should be in school. Her bag is worn, her coat is muddy and scuffed. Her walk is fifty years old.

Shaking

The loud flourescent pink of her tight T-shirt rudely pulls at my gaze, and then nudges it down to the folds of belly hanging over her jeans, the colour of uncooked sausages. Further down the pavement is my postman, who rushes around as if he's on speed. I can see his hands shaking like a moth's wings from across the street.

in the cupboard

two fat white buddhas, each perching on an old tin of paint

drip drip drip

the deep roots only need patience to slake their thirst

Plastic vs. cells

A bright yellow carton of washing up liquid sits on the wheelie-bin across the road and tries to compete with the daffodils on the window-sill. It's a brave effort.

Watches the sun come up

A single apple on a leafless tree watches the sun come up, starting with a flirt of pink and blushing deeper until the orange-yellow sliver nudges up over the black horizon and leaks light everywhere.

Clues

The numbers on the gravestones, even if from more than a hundred years ago, whisper clues we'd rather not hear. We can't stop listening.

Two blue mooses

carved from wood - or is it two blue meece?

colour

falling in love with the greens of pumpkin seeds and a kiwi's insides

Snow hill

Half a drop of blood on a white tissue: a small girl's hat dropped on a snow hill.