The way Tuesday began

Tongues of steam curl from my mostly-drunk tea. Outside a blackbird hops, yellow flowers exalt.

heatwave: everything pants

windowsill, evening

at the heart of the dead dark glass of wine, a bulb of shining red

Erin counts 27 ripe red raspberries

she cries for seven seconds, and then she is ashamed

too much of a good (sticky toffee pudding) thing

Overheard conversation about disappointment

-I just don't think that men think in the same way as women, to be honest.
-Oh no, no, they don't.

busy day.

pause. eat ice-lolly in the garden.

two girls

they speak soft Spanish in the waiting room

the lawn is clotted with clover, occasional buttercups

today I am a slug, a sloth, a slug

MEH!

Fatty spots a spotted thrush through the morning kitchen window.

After talking of death in a small room, I walk to the fish and chip shop. The church bells peal.

white foxgloves lean in the shade, hiding their dark scarlet spattered throats

a dark green plastic chair
the day rises up to hold me

A middle aged man wearing old-fashioned glasses, an ironed shirt and neatly combed hair, he shows me his 'before' photo. A bearded drunk, raging.

Leaving Slough

the carpet warehouses go on and on.....

English breakfasts taste best when scoffed with friends

I thought daily small stones were weighing my pockets down. Instead they tether me to the world, lightly.

putting me off my Orangina

the fingerprint fossil of a lipstick stain on the lip of the glass

my hand around the waist of this sexy Fanta bottle woman

This blackbird with a snapped and sticking-out wing feather has been spotted several times in the past week, hopping under the feeders for seed. I worry about her.

I wear my new shiny red car like the most expensive designer dress

On the mat to greet me this morning

An organ, neatly excised by sharp teeth, rests on a faint blood stain. A bean. It was not wanted.

Evening, the light begins to seep away

Daisy dots glow white, white, white. Corvids swirl and sink towards sleep.

5.25 am : a pheasant feeds on fallen seeds

poor mole, curled up on the drive and very still

Tiny money spider floats in the space between body and screen.
Pause: consider the wonder of his silk-thread manufacture!

it hurts. breathe. it hurts. breathe.

In death there is beauty

Dead beetle on the path, his belly shining bronze, flipped over his wings a pair of iridescent green-blue jewels.