Saturday, February 28

patrolling the garden, checking up on the flowers

Friday, February 27

Thursday, February 26

the washed-up mug on the washing up rack holds heat from the February sun

Wednesday, February 25

enjoy them while you can

so far the deer haven't found the (tasty) bright spring flowers

Tuesday, February 24

dull morning

snowdrops nestle in fallen leaves, lift the shabby corners of the lawn

Monday, February 23

leek tart from a packet

someone (or something) somewhere has made me delicious cheddar pastry

Sunday, February 22

Saturday, February 21

driving late, skinny black cat

she darts across four lanes of motorway traffic, leaving behind a clutching fear that next time she'll be all out of luck

Friday, February 20

twice today other people cry her tears for her

Thursday, February 19

Wednesday, February 18

Tuesday, February 17

the summer-sky hyacinths bow under the weight of their sweet perfume

Monday, February 16

the trunk of the tree that was spindly two years ago is taking on bulk

Saturday, February 14

Not a river walk

The water laps around the feet of the bench. Pairs and groups of people emerge from the long dark hedge corridor to be greeted by the burst river. I sit as if on a chaise longue and read about silence.

Friday, February 13

fatty vs. viao

blue laptop nicely warms my lap but isn't half as good to stroke and doesn't even purr

Thursday, February 12

the same view from the window is never the same

the grass half-sugar frosted, half lush green
the sky behind the tree all watery

Wednesday, February 11

All around the cottage, bulbs are starting to push their thick green arms towards the winter light.

Tuesday, February 10

Today I am too thick with myself to notice anything.

Monday, February 9

Driving home

A snow hill looms from the mist, the horizon missing. Someone's scissors have cut out cattle shapes.

Saturday, February 7

the man at the bar says 'women will shorten your life'

Friday, February 6

crumbs in bed from home-baked shortbread hearts

Thursday, February 5

water chords

snow-melt drips from the eaves of the thatch, conjuring fingertips on ivory keys

Wednesday, February 4

Snowy birdfeeder

Pilfering squirrel hangs down from the beam and eats the food he doesn't know isn't his.

Tuesday, February 3

The lawn is covered in a soft white quilt - dark stray blades of grass poke out like quills. In the hedge behind, a redwing shows off her marvellous speckled chest. The sun comes out.

Sunday, February 1

Driving home

The air thickens, coagulates into snow. Flakes appear from the dark and rush the window-screen, or maybe we are rushing towards them.