Silver scraping of whisk on pan - the music of mum making cheese sauce for tea.

Both the couple behind me and the woman in front of me in the supermarket queue have forgotten their hessian bags, just like me. We buy new ones, wanting to be green. We are trying our best.

stacked wood patiently waits to be set alight

two flies meander, pale against the cold and dreary hedge

days slip by without comment

days slip by...

days slip by...

it isn't true, but it feels like there's nothing to write about today

cold outside

the wood burns white, exhales heat, keeps the cold outside

In the doctor's waiting room

we wait

Found small stone, City Link warehouse office

NOTICE: Please refrain from opening the windows in this office to their full extent as they represent a hazard to people walking along the front of the building.

my kitchen table after tidying everything away

even after blowing
pin-pricks of glitter
cling to the lovely wood

a pot of saved sunshine

sweet dark unctuous jam, studded with whole blackcurrants

after a stormy night, everything finds its place again

a dull ache in my stomach
a dull ache in that tree as it sheds leaves

Late harvest

Three leeks, filling the room with their oniony reek.
The last of the giant butternut, whizzed into soup.
A small saucepan-full of knobbly beets.
Seven heads of garlic in the dark.

blueberry explosion

when she opens the door to the fridge there is a blueberry explosion: they bounce and roll their way to temporary freedom

my small stones are getting smaller

hungover

after too much ice-cream, too much Facebook

on this empty patch of desk

a rubber rubbing, a biscuit crumb, a cat hair

the rain rains on everyone and makes them slightly wet

On Aldeburgh beach

I choose a pebble, smooth and speckled with blue, and hold it in my palm for a while before bending to put it back where it belongs.

On the train to Aldeburgh

I suddenly grin at the thought that I am a writer. A writer!

a ballooned lipstick-pink plastic bag
marooned in a poplar tree
as it gratefully sheds its yellow leaves

I sniff at the lavender tea-light to find the scent and notice the tip of the wick glowing tangerine, the lavender tinge at the base of the short fat flame.

between paragraphs at my desk

she skips from perch to perch
- pausing mid-air -
her wings a hummingbird-blur

a splash of luscious pollen-gold
her crown

unexplained noises heard alone

peer out into the dark: today there are no men with hammers

morning meditation:

a blurry fringe hair floats in exhaled breath

my fingertips stink of bleach

Her clothes are designer - lopsided, layered, bright. Her ringletty blond hair extensions are huge, as if she's wearing a collie dog. Her face is small, pale and pinched. She draws attention, but not the kind she needs.