Saturday, March 31

Friday, March 30

Who?

This weather man I've never seen before, with his open jacket and northern accent. What colour is his duvet? Does he like asparagus? How does he feel about his body? What does he want to be when he grows up? Where does he go when he feels sad?

Thursday, March 29

Tired

I sit in a small room all afternoon and swallow yawns. Outside, an unidentified bird twirls his song around him like a streamer.

Wednesday, March 28

Tuesday, March 27

two Spring vases

the daffodil petals have started to shrivel and blacken, but the white tulips go on and on

Monday, March 26

Sunday, March 25

Double joy

A string of deer skip across the road and off across the misty fields - I brake hard to miss the fourth. Later, two magpies for joy, and then later still two more.

Saturday, March 24

and then

...and then specks are dancing out there: flies? snow? ash?

Friday, March 23

Yellow on a dull day

Gorse sits squat, their ember-blossoms giving off heat and light. Lone rapeseed flowers periscope above fields of their short green comrades. Forsythia sticks its yellow-encrusted branches into the sky, a finger up at this drab attempt at Spring.

Thursday, March 22

curled-up cat

even though we took the bed away she still lies in the same spot on the carpet, exposed

Wednesday, March 21

Interfering

I pick the tabby up from behind the plant pots and place her where she's safe from the spitting tom. I might as well spend my days taking worms from the beaks of birds and baby rabbits from the mouths of foxes.

Tuesday, March 20

Hail then sunshine then snow brings this poem's drunkenness to mind

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes -
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands -
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

-- Louis MacNeice

Monday, March 19

Cheap cider and empty days

The heap of discarded White Lightening bottles huddle closer to the church wall, seeking shelter.

Sunday, March 18

Joyful and triumphant

This morning the sunlight is distilled golden optimism. Even when clouds slip across and shield us, the radio still belts out bright funk-rock. The singer repeats a lyric stolen from 'Come All Ye Faithful', joyously.

Saturday, March 17

Distracted by the whirring in my head

I fail to discover a single small stone. This isn't what living should be.

Friday, March 16

Hoxton Square

Squirrel. Man drinking cider. Pigeon. A hearse followed by 10 black saloons carrying mourners, heaped with flowers. Sunshine. A toddler called Harry. Pigeon. Squirrel.

Thursday, March 15

Too high

A pigeon causes a commotion amongst the pink blossoms, blundering on branches that won't support his weight.

Wednesday, March 14

Could we live here?

My soul lurches from one life to another, desperate to find a place to rest. Do we ever, really?

Monday, March 12

Sunday, March 11

Watercolour

Trees silhouetted against a pale sky studded with scudding dark grey cumulus, and behind vertical slashes of white cirrus. No need to paint it - this morning is already a watercolour.

Friday, March 9

Peacock, Nuneham Courtney Arboretum

He gives up on getting any tidbits and lies down next to me. His long feathers settle behind him, a dress-coat with a muddy hem. Could any human painter mix more beautiful blues, coppers, greens?

Thursday, March 8

White chocolate cookie

Not easy to pay complete attention to every mouthful of soft, gritty dough, buttery-crisp around the edges and studded with silky shards of chocolate. Try it and see.

Wednesday, March 7

Fatty in the way again

It's a beautiful tail - jet black, thistle-fluff soft and extravagantly bushy - but I still don't appreciate it draped across the keyboard as I try to type.

Tuesday, March 6

Therapy room

Today's small stone is this small stone, printed on the side of my box of tissues. It's quite ordinary - pale grey, roughly oval - and this is why I like it.

Monday, March 5

Sunday, March 4

The sounds of pain

My eyes are wide open and my heart has sped up before I realise that the man is being beaten up on the television, and not on the street under our bedroom window.

Saturday, March 3

Eclipse

The pale moon turns ill, slips under a sheet of shadow.

Friday, March 2

The Art of Siam

Which of the mouthfuls of sweet sticky coconut rice and tofu and potatoes in spicy peanut sauce do I choose for my small stone? Every one.

Thursday, March 1

Music

A heavy-headed morning, and now this music bearing me up to the ceiling.