Interfering

I save the greenfinch, who has a cut over his eye, and quakes in the hedgerow for an hour before going on with his life. Later a blue-tit is scattered across the lawn.

Afternoon catnap

The light is too loud - she curls a paw over her eyes.

On the path beside the graveyard

A scattering of cherries, most of them squished to pulp.

Empty house

The smell of paint invites us in, asks us to stay a while.

Breakfast, late

At first attempt, the fork tine bounces off the plastic skin enclosing the gorgeous orange-yellow yolk.

Ride-out, Isle of Wight

Tangerine orange, racing green, mint, candy pink, they centipede across the island leaving a stink behind them.

In the shade

A single nodding cyclamen, tethered by its stalk, washed out flamingo pink against pale stone.

Small boy, delighted

With little encouragement his face breaks open, he lets out bursts of smiling.

Fzzzzzt!

They both look back, but the cyclist hasn't dropped a bunch of keys. He's cycled over a slice of glass and turned it into powder.

In the middle of a field

a langorous gaggle of geese waggle their white tail-feathers and groom their wings with lovely orange beaks.

Afterwards

A pile of spent matches on the hearth still hold the memory of heat and fierce light.

Another week begins

Golden tea. Light rain. Blue laptop.

Storm

All this noise. The yellow lichen on the roof remains nonplussed.

ears and whiskers

hundreds of plump pale yellow kernels swaddled in papery green

Mimi in the cupboard

The best place to sleep in the house.

cherry tomato picked from the plant

a bursting mouthful of sweet juice

Something dead

It's on the lawn, unidentifiable from here. Flies flick in, flick out.

Holding hands

They walk in pairs - two middle aged black men, each accompanying a white boy with learning disabilities. The boy walking behind twirls his hands and shimmies his head to invisible music, his eyes distant. The front pair are holding hands.

Graveyard

The ground is scattered with crushed beer cans, silver streamers, empty cider bottles: the dead have been partying all night.

two colours of paint

aquamarine mixed with plenty of white, flaking away from a battered garage door / a new front door circled by roses in the same sunshine yellow

Blocking the sun

Black bird-shapes sit on telegraph wires, move in shifting groups across the sky.

Radio interview

He said he'd stop when his watch stopped, and did. When she gets to this part of the story, her voice breaks up.

small brown bird

the book says it's a willow warbler

red puddle

the fuschia hedge drips petals onto the pavement

three sounds

the wind shirring the roadside reeds - forty baby pheasants phweeing from their cages - chorizo and sun smoked tomatoes fizzling in a pan

after 8 hrs of driving

numb bums

Innards

I lift the half-a-mouse up by his tail to throw it into the long grass. It's already adhered to the concrete, and is reluctant to let go. It leaves behind a small sticky mound of innards, seething with life.

Esther's garden

Pots dripping with lobelia, geraniums, gazania. A cat rolling on the bright patio. The sudden kerfuffle of pigeons flapping their wings. A dark red rose hiding at the back of the hedge. Freshly boiled home grown potatoes for lunch. Being told the name of that acid orange flower, and having to ask again ten minutes later. Monbretia.

Strawberry shortcake

Layers of scone and cream and sun-drenched fruit.

Alive

Sixty inch-long caterpillars clot around the tender nettle tips. Every second or so they jerk their jet-black furry bodies in unison.