Saturday, December 31

the train slides through the countryside, travelling north. the clouds are various and extraordinary.

Friday, December 30

they sit & drink tea & eat cake & talk about trivialities. nana tell me he is 'not well, not at all well'.

Thursday, December 29

two getting-big-kittens on my lap & an old boy cat on my feet. laptop perched perilously on sofa-arm. back twisted. a symphony of purr.

Wednesday, December 28

lazy crescent moon reclines. the sharp ends would puncture balloons.

Monday, December 26

heavy rain has patterned the outside of the window with paint-dabs of white
through it is brick, a straight black gutter, red berries, a slice of sky

Sunday, December 25

before Christmas, we walk out onto the lawn with the kittens. the air is cool. the garden is overgrown. the hills watch over us. the world is there.

Saturday, December 24

Friday, December 23

Thursday, December 22

We stand around the fire with candles and welcome the Solstice. We throw our oak twigs into the centre. We see what we don't want burnt. The wind takes the candles, one by one.

Wednesday, December 21

home-made mince pies with wiggly pastry taste 100x better than the best from packets

Tuesday, December 20

final draft

red pen. manuscript. comma in. comma out. comma in.

Monday, December 19

the swshhhh of Kaspa turning pages, the radio blare, kitten-feet on the stairs, my own tongue and teeth, tut tut tut tut tut wondering over these words

Sunday, December 18

It is a choir service for adults. For the first twenty minutes a child screams - his discontent echoing around the Priory. I listen to the story about baby Jesus and try not to hate this child. The choir exudes golden sound. We hear the story from the Bible. I listen to the silence between the words. The baby yells. I try not to hate this child.

Saturday, December 17

this evening a sky-full of curdled clouds are moving fast. earlier we walked on the white hills and winter sun shone thinly, choosing which patches to melt first. the cats curl at my feet. hot mint tea will lift me.

Friday, December 16

silver foil bird on the fir tree branch
sequinned wings, glistening breast
surveying all with one black beady eye

Thursday, December 15

flit flit flit
muscles melting
breath slowing
back to work

Wednesday, December 14

Tuesday, December 13

a furry mechanical hamster, white-belly-up on the wooden floor, discarded by two sets of feisty paws

Monday, December 12

Looking around the room, I wonder what is fresh. Look again. Look again.

Sunday, December 11

warm circle of purr only minutes ago was a Tasmanian devil of crashing and galloping and milk-spilling

Saturday, December 10

a day of missing trains and getting things wrong, reminder after reminder

Friday, December 9

a triangle of pale blue sky draped with twinkling lights

Thursday, December 8

in traffic we talk about this and that and we're not moving slowly any more

Wednesday, December 7

morning conservatory. cold rushes in through the glass. a single penny in the middle of the grey tiled floor. outside, the bleached skeletons of petunias, and wind.

Monday, December 5

small circular table containing 1 grey stone Buddha, 1 white paper lamp, 1 sitting-up dozing-off kitten.

Sunday, December 4

our tears soften the shells we all fabricate around ourselves

Saturday, December 3

baby George is happy to be held by me, and gazes at his mother across the room. he offers me the gift of regurgitated milk on my right shoulder. he smiles & gurgles.

Friday, December 2

traffic in Hammersmith

inching past window after bright window of other people's lives

Thursday, December 1

Roshi kitten collapses onto my lap, surrendered to love