outside: spent leaves. patient hedge. washed out sky.
inside: tight shoulder muscles. thirst. fluttery heart.

...the necessary condition is love...

oh cinnamon bagel, cinnamon bagel, cinnamon bagel oh.... I love your cinnamon wafting scent and your salty dripping butter... oh cinnamon bagel, cinnamon bagel, cinnamon bagel oh... (repeat)

In between scrambled eggs, Sunday papers and a pot of coffee, I probe her psyche with my sharp questions.

Dead Mouse

Each single filament of fur has let go overnight: he's covered in a downy pile which trembles in the wind.

the gift of an entire day of being alone - a diary page, a big empty white plate

boyfriend runs out of petrol on lambretta: girlfriend to the rescue

the lovely stink of petrol fills the car

red red red

gladioli: a glorious bouquet

I close my eyes and the orange sun is still there

The workman spits: a long glob flies. The sky is striped with pink and aubergine.

widows

one of them was on anti-depressants six years later. one of them couldn't live on her own any more and took turns staying with her daughters. one of them went straight back to work.

Apple of my eye

Erin perched in the apple tree.

stink bombs

6 month old whole eggs on the compost heap

pumpkin flesh: buttery, tender, orange

robin drifts from the hedge disguised as a leaf.

Dull day. Curled beige leaves appear in the lee of the hedge. The cats curl up on the sofa, refuse to budge.

Family

After fifty minutes we find the word that sums it all up.

Sunday lunch = happy satiation

A squirrel moves across the lawn like seaweed in a current.

she has a shaved head and a beaming smile

sweet cherry tomato explosions

red jewels plucked from their beds and popped one by one in my mouth

09/09/09

Growing roadkill

Every day this badger's belly balloons a little bit bigger

unexpected sun is the best kind of all

Sunday love-nch

Roast potatoes, with olives and love. Roast garlic. Celeriac mashed with love and double cream. Green beans chopped into love-sized pieces, dripping with butter. Love gravy. Love.

Convention

He is telling us his story. We laugh after every sentence. He is hilarious. He says the next thing, and brings the convention to tears.

Fatty sits between me and the screen: he has a good point.

what next? just this

Fatty stretches out and leans against the back of my zafu for twenty minutes of cat-meditation (also known as a nap)

Autumn drawing in...