quiet morning

running underneath the silence like a seam of rubies, the voice of a wood-pigeon

cinamonmmmmm

toasted hot cross buns with melting butter

Snatch of conversation between 2 ten year old school-girls about their bouffanted friend Harriet

First schoolgirl: Can you see, like, how Harriet's hair is sometimes all pouffy?
Second schoolgirl: Yeah...
First schoolgirl: Like, how it is today?

Sharing sounds

At the lights the moustached man in the next car is dancing his fingers on the steering wheel. His swoops and taps match the music pulsing from my radio. Amber, green. I pull in, park. On stepping out of the car, a bird greets me with a burst of clear-throated song.

holding on tight

Only a sprinkling of berries still cling on to the bush; pumpkin-coloured, shrunken, and holding on tight to their seed.

smoke

A moment after driving through the white, the rosy smell of bonfires fills the car.

Inside

The old shed next door has gone blind, boarded up to keep the weather out. Ivy piles up at its feet, the roof twinkles with cold. Inside is a zebra, a lake, heaps of rubies, or a woman with long pale hair spinning silk.

old gentleman

a fat pigeon promenades up and down the top of the wall, kicking off specks of snow as he takes in the view

colours

a white cup of golden earl grey breathes a white mist onto the window pane

skybride

a splinter of black crosses the blue, taking care to keep its trailing white skirt perfectly straight

on approaching a small black lump in the road

expecting death, I find a different kind: a length of chopped off bough, the leaves still green

Mechanical birds

Across the water, behind the rippling bullrushes, three cranes stand with their booms all pointing to the left.

windy

trees flick their tips, laying down blue

eczema

itch scratch ouch

Listening to breathing

People all over the world are taking their last breath now

Vespa

It won't start. Clouds of cloggy petrol-smell drift through the house.

Sleeping fox

Three days later he's still stretched out on the same patch of grassy verge. The wind makes tiny waves in his pale biscuit fur.

Standing at the glass door

and looking out, the wood floor coats my soles with slippers of cold.

Reading in bed

A smear of red on the base of the page releases a bloom of panic. It's only a paper cut on my little finger - I breathe out. I'll live.

airport luggage conveyer belt

it lets out noises like children playing in a swimming pool, their squeaky glee echoing through the empty space

squally

next door's fence and all our plastic chairs flat on their faces

gutted

a brick skin: all that's left of Star Market

Orange juice

Mouthfuls of orange juice, tart and sweet. Who planted their seeds? Tended them? Picked them? How would they tell their stories?

at the edges of school

four red plastic chairs leant against a wire fence

early morning office

the pens crackle in their pots with lidded energy

white-gloss-paint-stained fingers

a concoction of sugar and washing up liquid works well in lieu of turps

View from the usual window

If that tree wasn't naked I wouldn't have seen the domed silver minaret rising up from behind the line of roofs. Listen - imagined muezzin sing from the arches cut into the gallery. The crown tapers to a point which points to the sky.

Sitting with Fatty

We are sitting and watching the street, me cross-legged, him curled up on the hammock of my skirt.
When he looks up at me there are red biscuit crumbs clinging to the hairs on his chin.

in a chinese supermarket freezer

dark purple pig's spleen, creamy honeycomb beef

Everything tightens

The sun is tired this afternoon and sags in the sky. Half a lemon sits face down in a puddle, scenting the water with citrus. Everything tightens against the cold.

Begin again

A red tractor follows the line of the horizon. Glossy crows perch on stubbled corn. Patches of water help the sky to bear its brilliant blue.