Friday, November 30

big rustly paper bags are Roshi's favourite place to be inside

Thursday, November 29

background

computerfan hum
breath in & out
miniature squelchings of a washing cat

Wednesday, November 28

Monday, November 26

early morning
we drive through the common

at the place where grass meets tarmac
brandishing his tail

fox

Sunday, November 25

Saturday, November 24

art therapy
colours & shapes comes out and I don't know what they are
yet

Friday, November 23

five blackbirds gorge on orange pyracantha berries, the tree basking in stage-light morning sun.

Thursday, November 22

a last apple still hangs, half-eaten, half-rotten, containing seed

Wednesday, November 21

the fall of water nags... 'fix the guttering! fix the guttering!'

Tuesday, November 20

a day of dull pain and rain. glimmers of golden autumn leaves.

Monday, November 19

Roshi moves through the grass, picking up each paw and placing it carefully. The apple-tree has only yellow tatters of leaves left.

Sunday, November 18

before breakfast we discuss ex-boyfriends and bad dreams and the terror of having to be a grown-up. then we eat good sourdough bread and jam.

Saturday, November 17

there is a brittleness which breaks down and soft tears come out

Friday, November 16

walking down seven sisters road, I realise how tiny my usual corner of the planet is

Wednesday, November 14

it's cold outside
in here we eat biscuits and listen to each other

Tuesday, November 13

a huge chaotic splattering of dark coffee onto the pale carpet...

Monday, November 12

no flowers left

in my 1/3 milk bottle, a variegated sprig of leaves & nodding bunches of tangerine pyracantha

Sunday, November 11

small kindnesses on the train

the woman across the aisle tells me the toilet is 'a long long way away' as if she regrets me having to walk so far through the swaying carriages.

we've had small conversations about how cold it is and the delays. when the girl next to me gets off, she leans over and interrupts my music to say 'goodbye' with a smile.

the train conductor commiserates with a passenger about the delays. 'I just want to get everyone home'. he sounds like he means it.

Saturday, November 10

Friday, November 9

bubblegum pink trousers glowing in the darkening afternoon 
she rides her broom horsie up and down the street

Thursday, November 8

all day burning conifer in the garden.
the fire has a white-tangerine-hot heart.
the cats skirt the edges of the heat.
we are steeped in smoke.
molecules cling to my hair like burrs.


Wednesday, November 7

Tuesday, November 6

the gentle miniature-horn-instrument toots of Roshi's snore
his head heavy on my left wrist as I type

Sunday, November 4

fuzzled by an ill fog
moments of brightness break through

Thursday, November 1

the gentle rumble of Roshi's purr-engine 
pulls my eyes from the screen.
he grins at me with his eyes.