Thursday, November 29

Wednesday, November 28

small consolations

this candle flame, these legs that keep me up, this fine bone china cup of clear mint tea

Tuesday, November 27


A song about Norwegian dancing goats written more than a hundred years ago bounces around the interior of the car. The dark rain doesn't penetrate.

Sunday, November 25


white berries: most of them lonesome, pure as fresh snow, strange miniature moons
red berries: a few waxy bright torpedoes kicking out against the dull green leaves behind
black berries: scattered clumps of plump full stops

Saturday, November 24

wonky gingerbread men

treacle and cinnamon waft through the house, mingling with woodsmoke and ink

Friday, November 23

Whilst on the phone

Whilst on the phone, a bang from the road is followed by a pheasant crying - waark! waark! waark! After the call I walk out onto the road but I can't see him anywhere.

Thursday, November 22

as if

the light skips across the flowing stream as if it is alive, which it is

Wednesday, November 21

today my whole body wants to be closer to the ground

Tuesday, November 20

real life is better than cartoons

like a roadrunner and a coyote
one squirrel pegs it after the other
up and down
round and round
up and down the tree

Monday, November 19


He misses his footing on the gravel. His knee bends a fraction before he gets his balance back, continues his strutting circuit around the garden.

Sunday, November 18


This part of his training he's remembered well - a ringing, rising, delighted-to-see-you 'hello!' as diners pile into the bright warm restaurant from the driving rain outside.

Saturday, November 17

Thursday, November 15


the dregs of seed have mouldered, turned into powder - the birds crowd around the peanut feeder

Wednesday, November 14

new filofax

I tear out and throw away old shopping lists, old master plans, old friends

Tuesday, November 13

Found pound

The elegant elderly gentleman in a pin stripe suit spots a pound coin on the carpet. He picks it up and hands it in to the cashier, his scalp shining through his white hair, his palsy a small continuous lolling and recovering.

Saturday, November 10

farm shop

even where tables are set up for coffee and lemon drizzle cake, the sour clammy smell of meat saturates the air

Friday, November 9

through binoculars

robin, chest glowing in the darkening afternoon, dips his body forward and takes black sunflowers seeds into his mouth

Thursday, November 8

brims up

he speaks from his dark and lonely centre: love brims up in me

Wednesday, November 7

a new spot for Silver

under the radiator in the spare room, a bank of heat soaking through her fur

Tuesday, November 6

the night after bonfire night

families of white sparks are born and scatter, a handful of gravel flung onto water

Monday, November 5


Two large crumpled leaves have landed on this empty parked car's windscreen. They'll need to be lifted off before the driver can pull away. I'll do it. As soon as the thought surfaces I snatch it away, examine it for signs of posturing, ego, how-I-would-like-to-be-seen.

Sunday, November 4

Old poet

He loses his place, ugly-coughs, breaks into snatches of song. He wants to read more poems. He is so transparent, you can almost see the back of the hall behind him. He is so solid, when he looked and took my hand he squeezed out tears.

Saturday, November 3


fat sparrow cut-outs strung on bare branches - every so often they rearrange themselves

Friday, November 2


branches flex
leaves shiver
a grey blur darts
out of sight

Thursday, November 1

11 month old Florence says look!

Every ten minutes there is something new to fill her up with awe.