Sunday, May 29

Saturday, May 28

flowers in jugs either side of the shrine, each one picked by someone's fingers and arranged with loving care

Wednesday, May 25

spider circles my laptop screen, intricate blacks and whites on his back and legs

Tuesday, May 24

A white butterfly floats past the pink roses, which have been taunting us with their tight buds all week. This morning their crumpled petals are letting in light and air. They bob their heads in the breeze and invite me outside to taste their perfume.

Sunday, May 22

we talk about life and death and spirit but maybe the most important thing is making carrot cake and offering it

Saturday, May 21

We are discussing blueberries. Lucas (4) likes 'any food that is squishy'.

Friday, May 20

a throaty bubble, wood-pigeon punctuates the blackbird's twirl

Thursday, May 19

forced into its cosy hole in the grass by yesterday's lawnmower, removed, inspected, sniffed, and slotted back in: one small stone

Wednesday, May 18

walking meditation

sheep sweep the hill, finding the most luscious grass around the edges. when we turn our heads again they've gone.

Tuesday, May 17

all day Silver sleeps on the conservatory chair, like being in the garden only safe

Monday, May 16

my favourite petunia

black velvet in the neck of the flute, skirts crinkling out to edges of rude pink

Sunday, May 15

group process

sometimes you have to swim through dark brackish water without end to find the flickers of light

Saturday, May 14

Anna has written initials on the top layer of cream of the banoffee pie in wild strawberries - tiny, delicate, deep-blush-red. She carefully placed every one with her fingertips.

Thursday, May 12

Here: bright buttercups decorating the grass. Far over there: pale sheep decorating the hill.

Wednesday, May 11

"I love showing off my beautiful body. I, also, have great boobs and I love boobs." The bio of my new follower on Twitter proves that small stones are everywhere when we open our eyes.

Tuesday, May 10

seeping through the skin of this room:
blackbird-song, tyre-swoosh, Isabela's cries

Monday, May 9

lush peonies rest their over-exuberance on the low brick wall

Sunday, May 8

A crow-commotion. We run outside in our socks, expecting a trapped wing or a bloody fight. Esther, cat-from-next-door, hunches in the tree too close to a nest. She won't budge.

Friday, May 6

en route to Machynlleth

a small triangle of oozing ewes cheese, a chewy sourdough loaf blessed with seeds, a drink-of-water view of the rolling green valley. a mother sheep keeps her eye on us, her two babies waggling their tails behind her.

Thursday, May 5

the pinky leaves blow back in the breeze, flattening and springing back a thousand times

Wednesday, May 4

Cat sitting for Thomas

We call for Thomas. Another cat comes out of the black night - we hear him before we see him, black on black, he shouts 'yow! yow!'. He twines in between our ankles and laps up our strokes.

Tuesday, May 3

clematis

deep velvet maroon petals press against the moss-green fence. the spiky golden centre like a twenty-legged insect, resting.

Sunday, May 1

Early, sitting alone in the conservatory. Outside, the sun is starting to lick the edges of our lawn. Wood-pigeons puncture the silence, and a dog barks in the distance. The Malvern hills keep an eye on me, as they always do. You can lean on their broad green shoulders whenever you want.