Thursday, October 31

carpet

three leaves, a smeared clod of dark mud, wall-paper scratchings from under the cat's paws

Wednesday, October 30

nearly november: two luminous orange poppies wave their tattered flags

Tuesday, October 29

Monday, October 28

I look guiltily at the greenhouse from inside our warm house. The new sweet peas are thirsty.

Sunday, October 27

early morning. a row of long thin triangles made of light sweep across the bedroom ceiling as someone leaves for work. the cat purrs.

Friday, October 25

snipped too short & starved of water, the plump hydrangea blossom has shrivelled & hands its leaves in shame

Thursday, October 24

a second flush of hydrangea blooms: three lonely pale blue blooms. two are snipped with scissors and this morning grace the shrine.

Wednesday, October 23

goosepimples, and a metallic taste in my mouth
the second hand slides around the clock, relentless

Tuesday, October 22

over bitter coffee
we talk about how deeply flawed we are
being human

Monday, October 21

Sunday, October 20

morning walk: bright ochre sycamore leaf glossed by rain, rich green velvet moss, high sheen of mahogany conkerskin. the conker nestles its silk again my palm all the way home.

Saturday, October 19

eleven year old boy at the ceilidh, slicked back hair and an emerald green shirt, indicates how disgusted he is to be dancing with his mother with every cell in his body

Friday, October 18

A champagne-coloured syrup - woody, floral - slides between my fingers, transmuting into a silky froth of bubbles.

Thursday, October 17

Amongst the scattered crumbs, this fig-shaped geranium leaf. White-tipped and veined, it glistens in the light as if rubbed with powdered glitter. It is red, red.

Wednesday, October 16

the cars have gone. the roads are slicked with drizzle. an eraser of mist has rubbed out the top of the hills.

Tuesday, October 15

so many of my small stones
a desperate craning of neck
from my desk
to find the world
outside

Monday, October 14

Sunday, October 13

we chant Namo Quan Shi Yin Bosat
there is no need for anything else

Saturday, October 12

On waking I hear a soft 'miaow' from the next room: Selena saying good morning to her kitty.

Friday, October 11

the old cat next door greets to us loudly when we get out of the car. she has seen better days. we talk for a while (miouw! miouw! miouw! miouw!) before going inside.

Thursday, October 10

Wednesday, October 9

the photo of sunflowers pales underneath the orange roses with frilled petals & peachy hearts. even the sprig of dead leaves next to it have more life.

Tuesday, October 8

In the book shop

"One more time, okay? Wait until we tell your parents about this! What an exciting day you've had with granny and grandad." She takes her hand and they glide up the escalator.

Monday, October 7

the wet explosion of a sneeze from downstairs. reptilian tickings and whirrings from inside my computer. the soft sigh of my breath.

Sunday, October 6

October sun, three ways

A bright pool of light on the dewy garden table, the one that needs to be put away for the winter. A ghostly smeared cloud of light on the shed window. The overgrown grass, each blade crowned with a dot of sparkling light.

Saturday, October 5

first fire of autumn: the smell of woodsmoke, tawny toasty loveliness