Wednesday, March 31

Filling a glass with cold water, I sneak a look outside and am met by the face of the moon.

Tuesday, March 30

To keep things in perspective, begin your morning by washing a newt who's covered in carpet fibres after slogging across the expanses of the living room.

Monday, March 29

After nine days in a different world, my old life feels like a coat with too-short-sleeves.

Sunday, March 28


After a week of painful wrestling with death, sex and impermanence, I walk into the garden and see a bumblebee, hear birdsong.

Saturday, March 27

frilled daffodils sing yellow even when nobody's there

Friday, March 26

Thursday, March 25

Door open wide onto the garden, she yells: Zen! Zen! and the leonine black cat with a wisp of smoke at his neck steals back into the house.

Wednesday, March 24

In the shrine room

Above the licking golden flame
a column of shivering air.

Tuesday, March 23

Monday, March 22

Group process

She wraps herself in red: a casualty of letting in love.

Sunday, March 21

glass noodles: a roiling seething mass of creatures trawled from the depths of the sea

Saturday, March 20

sunlight on the wingnut leaves, the peacock whorl, the golden Buddha's face

Friday, March 19

Journey to Amida with Helen

Three and a half hours of driving telescopes to no time at all.

Thursday, March 18


hot cross bun crumbs, trickle of scarlet cranberry

Wednesday, March 17

the sun returns, as we always knew it would

Tuesday, March 16

Monday, March 15

in the art class

bright tangerine chalky pastel crumbles into bright tangerine dust

Sunday, March 14

Draped silver scarf: lit up in a million places by this late and welcomed spring sun.

Saturday, March 13

Safe salsa

He holds the tension in his hands and moves me where I need to go.

Friday, March 12

...the morning air is gravid with almost-rain...

Thursday, March 11

Wednesday, March 10

finally, scraps
of gold and purple
begin to appear
in rings around
the trees

Tuesday, March 9

For the woodpecker, the dry rattle of peanuts sliding into the metal feeder. Over the fields, fire-crackers from the barracks.

Monday, March 8

On the walk to the pub: naming a chaffinch, splintered hedge-tops, other people's big houses, fields and horizon opening up, a clutch of snowdrops, noisy sparrows, friendlove.

Sunday, March 7

Saturday, March 6

I make a decision to eat much more than I want.

Thursday, March 4

Wednesday, March 3

The shock of the red on the tissue brings my head between knees.
This is the stuff inside that keeps us alive.

Tuesday, March 2

Salsa night

Rather than seeing him as a terrible dancer, I see him as a challenge. Can I make him look good?