Thursday, January 31
Tuesday, January 29
Monday, January 28
Sunday, January 27
Friday, January 25
a fizzing flurry in my stomach. a heavy ache between my shoulder blades. as I tune in, I look out of the window. the dial-a-ride van driver is helping an elderly lady along her front path. she inches along, her head bent permanently forwards. she keeps a close eye on the ice under her feet. for a moment, we are the same person.
Wednesday, January 23
I run out into the deep snow in my socks, shouting, to take a tiny goldcrest from Roshi's claws. I hold him in my cupped hands and he trembles. I untangle the wet cat hair from his feet. We stand in the kitchen for some time, I want to warm him, and then I peek inside my hands and he escapes to perch in the orchid. I take him outside but I don't know where to put him that will be safe. Here? Here? I open my hands. He leaves me. Will he find enough food? How long will he live?
Tuesday, January 22
Sunday, January 20
Roshi, sleeping
flopped on the top of the sofa with one long arm stretched out, and underneath the plump pad of his paw is Barbie-pink
Saturday, January 19
Friday, January 18
Wednesday, January 16
Monday, January 14
Highlights
A clutch of optimistic pale yellow primroses. Gold shining from the dripped metal breast of our iron-cast robin. On the hills, streaks, sifted patches and paths of snow. Down the garden, glowing through the gloom, the drooped cup of a single ghostly hellebore.
Sunday, January 13
Saturday, January 12
Friday, January 11
through the window
the echoes of a train. a cool breeze. the straining squeak of a car starting up. another train, this one louder. birdsong scattered over.
Thursday, January 10
Wednesday, January 9
candle ritual
the flame accompanies me through these hours of lying down words. it shivers under my breath. it sucks up wax, offering heat and light. it sputters out.
Tuesday, January 8
Monday, January 7
Sunday, January 6
Friday, January 4
Wednesday, January 2
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