this morning I haven't the heart to pull those two new leaves from the pot plant soil
'weed' depends on the eyes you're looking with

rearrange

when moving it from room to room, the stuff we have threatens to overwhelm

late afternoon, walking outside for the first time since waking. the air is cold and enlivening. this tree has all the reds from rust to scarlet and wears them like a party dress.

in the corners: curls of paper, paperclip, dust balls, cables, a kitten's discarded mouse

glance

this sorry plant with its raggedy brown tips. the bookshelf crammed with words. a teetering pile of meditation cushions. the Buddha's golden nose. this deep pink fake peony, mere shadow of the ones that live and die.

visiting parents

we walk through the woods, getting lost and then finding our way. we are fed. we are made tea. we watch a single goldfinch on the feeder, his yellow shining. we talk of trivialities. their cats are looking older.

a blackbird stirs his tune through the sky like a drop of deep blue ink dropped into water

This kitten unlike any other

We count the pink pads on her paws. Front left. Three pink. One black. Front right. Three pink. One black. Back left. Three pink. One black. I can't remember the last one. She's sleeping now. I don't want to disturb her.

in the early hours, men's heated voices crescendo and fade, crescendo and fade. the drone note of another pleads 'please don't fight please don't fight please don't fight'

up and over the hills, accompanied by autumn colour & the sound of my friend's voices

old battle-sore cat gingerly descends the stairs whilst the youngsters throw themselves from room to room

alone

this luminous hour before the day begins: notebook, pen, conversation

evening service

this evening us different. this evening everything - the singing, the sitting, the ringing - is filled to the brim with light.

double-kitten-purr

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soundscape

kitten chirrups. clock tut-tut-tuts. laptop wheezes. outside, a brush kisses the pavements.

walking nembutsu

amitabha. amitabha.
round and round and round the silent buddha.
outside autumn has painted her greenery gold.

talking about theory

always, underneath, undercurrents. under the undercurrents, under-undercurrents.

two kittens

they sit on my lap all day, scraps of warmth, transducers of meat to play & love

the sound of a car on the road. whoosh. someone going from somewhere (where?) to somewhere (where?) else. all of us with our multifarious lives.

filtered through the wall, baby Isobella makes a high-pitched noise which could be happiness or pain

Roshi kitten

I can't find the cat carrier and so walk him to the vet in a picnic basket. He was 600g at 6 weeks, now he's 500g at 7. He mews a conversation with the vet before getting his antibiotic injection. When we get home he huddles on my lap, a scrap of fur, and purrs and purrs.

mid-lively-conversation, choking. death appears fleetingly at the window. later, the coughing stopped, we forget him again.

Family

Our dads trade terrible jokes.

birthday

a full 37 years. spent.

white chimney against grey skies. that's all. that's enough.

I wake in the night and stumble in to check on our tiny new kittens. they were fast asleep, but when they hear me they leave their furry igloo and bound towards me. they nestle against my socks. they have no mother any more. they are already wise.

after service

we pass the talking-stone around and speak of how hard it is to talk in a circle, and be listened to, and feel our words (all of them) welcome.

a tiny sleeping heap of Tsuki-&-Roshi-kitten on the rug

Roshi's first car journey

He clings onto my neck and cries at the top of his voice. When we put him down in his new room, before long he rolls over and shows us his belly. His purr is as whole-hearted as his cries.

greens

raggedy bush of scent-blooming lavender
drab background to blowsy petticoat-pink roses
up close, seedling with three bright leaves
hedge, yellowing
grass
all sprinkled with birdsong & morning