Wednesday, February 28

A slow-motion dog

Glancing out of the window, I see the wind catch the side of the plastic greenhouse - whoop. The raindrops clinging to the polythene sheet are flicked into the air all at once. A slow-motion dog shaking off water, a cloud of dandelion seeds.

Tuesday, February 27


the orange of freshly split fragrant butternut squash

Monday, February 26

Sunday, February 25

All this life

Two rabbits patiently wait to cross the road. A cat on the prowl disappears back under the hedge. A blackbird scuttles sideways, intent on pecking something tasty from the road. A crow meows from the roof. Who is singing? Phee phee phee... Phee phee phee...

Saturday, February 24

Office jungle

The fig tree stoops over my desk, weeping an occasional leaf and threatening to twine its branches around me. It gives me oxygen, I offer it carbon dioxide in return.

Friday, February 23

Subway guitarist

He's unshaven, flushed, smells of the street, and music streams from his fingers like sunlight. In which of his lives did he take lessons, learn the technique? This life - his one and only.

Thursday, February 22


Pink and white blossoms are rising to the surface of the wood in anticipation of Spring. It's as if a giant hand has spattered these trees with gobs of bubble-bath bubbles.

Tuesday, February 20

In a graveyard

A full plastic supermarket bag, tipped on its side and spewing human hair out onto the grass.

Sunday, February 18

nothing is happening

I look out of the window and wait for something to happen so I can write about it. It's not that nothing is happening, it's that I'm not looking closely enough.

Saturday, February 17


A dad with his two small boys are crossing the road when a couple pull up in their smart red open-top sports car. The man climbs out of the car, sees the look on the boy's faces, smiles. 'Would you like to have a go sitting in it?' The smallest boy looks up at his dad, wide-eyed, nodding.

Friday, February 16

Good morning

Opening the window wide lets in a blast of fresh cool air. I stick my head out and close my eyes, and my tabby cat snuffles the smells from all over my face.

Thursday, February 15

Wednesday, February 14

Mint and tea-tree conditioner

A thin worm of mint green-tinted white piles up in my hand. After washing it away my scalp glows with a menthol chill.

Tuesday, February 13

On not having a good days' writing

The harder I push them, the more the words turn their backs on me, refuse to get into line.

Monday, February 12

Office day

Through the rain-spattered window, empty cars wait patiently for their owners.

Sunday, February 11

Wishing my eyes had zoom...

Is it a heron? He doesn't mind that I don't know his name. He continues to sit on his post as the sun warms the land, and if he could he'd cross his legs into the lotus.

Saturday, February 10

birthday present

a packet of chocolate beads like naked smarties; swirled from proper white, milk, dark

Friday, February 9


A crow sits on every tenth fence post, watching for snow clouds.

Thursday, February 8


a lump of wet snow chooses this moment to fall from next door's roof

Wednesday, February 7

Hoods up

A slight girl with a pretty bird-like face, she walks along with her eyes downcast, concentrating hard against the cold.

Tuesday, February 6


The trees cast zig-zag shadows onto the bricks while steam spews from a nearby vent and spreads itself out into nothing.

Monday, February 5

metal detecting

a lone man moves across the middle of a field, dreaming of treasure

Sunday, February 4


The moon is so transparent it's as if I could slip a thumb-nail under the edge and peel it from the sky. Meanwhile her brother's honey light falls on everything, especially the frost.

Saturday, February 3


He's a middle-aged man, thick in the waist, with cropped hair and salt-and-pepper stubble. He's sporting a white T-shirt and white jeans, spattered with thousands of rainbow splishes of paint.

Friday, February 2

Even here

I open the curtains to a squirrel garlanding the tree in next door's garden. A pigeon sits patiently on a chimney stack. Behind, three black bird-dots rise up towards the ceiling of the sky.

Thursday, February 1

'Are you lost?'

He watches us turn round in the country lane, and watches us pass again. He's hoping. I get out of the car and approach him. 'Are you lost?' I give him a chance to help me, he takes it like a chocolate or a rose.