Friday, January 31

these ruched velvety carnations, the colour of ripe plums

Thursday, January 30

curled up just outside the office in her usual favourite spot, I can hear her deep metronomic purrs from here

Wednesday, January 29

I buy a scone because they say 'vegan' and I don't see that word very often in cafes. I don't really have any room for the scone. I eat it and it is delicious. My too-full stomach panics and I continue eating.

Tuesday, January 28

I still haven't gone out into the garden to see those hellebores...

Monday, January 27

logging on, I'm dismayed to see that my last small stone was written five days ago...

Sunday, January 26

as we meditate
Fatty attacks
my service book
and puts his claws
right through

Saturday, January 25

from here I can see the hellebores have come out, white heads nodding. it's too cold to go out and look into their faces. or rather not too cold, but my spirit is unwilling.

Friday, January 24

two hours writing in a coffee-shop
the words spilling across the pages
loosening knots, the beginnings 
of seismic shifts

Wednesday, January 22

when we weren't looking, fog dropped & veiled the world

Tuesday, January 21

marketing day

drowning in tweets & status updates
I stop and sip tea until I find my way back to myself

Monday, January 20

a pigeon wandering about on next door's flat roof, which sparkles with thick frost and ice. another silhouetted on the street lamp down the road, all misty greys behind it. a third in the eucalyptus, the tree's bark hanging down like burnt shredded skin.

Sunday, January 19

old cat sits upright on my lap and puts a paw around my arms so he can be closer to me. the purring doesn't stop. I can feel the bones in his back.

Saturday, January 18

pulling crisp beige spears from the potted tree in my room. too much water or not enough?

Friday, January 17

strands of spider-silk join the tip of the fern's leaf to the plant pot. cleaning away webs always feels mean.

Thursday, January 16

all day the weather inside my body is changeable

Wednesday, January 15

a flake of gold skin hangs from the Buddha's hands

Tuesday, January 14


leg muscles tremble, my palms deposit a slick of slippery sweat on the mat. my breath gets louder. I try to look up at the ceiling, praying I won't topple.

Monday, January 13


birdsong slides through the cracked-open window. the radiator accompaniment is the bass-drone of water pushed through pipes. a train crashes through, leaving a trail of stillness.

Sunday, January 12

the Malvern hills: fragments

a scattering of gorse blossom amongst the dull green: bright bursts of yellow

the meeting-point of warm smiles as we approach strangers

struggling to find breath as we rise up and up into the cold mist

the yellow and green luminous jackets on horses far below, moving across the fields

this sweet little dog, Lark, who bounds towards us and back towards us and back as she encourages us up the path

Saturday, January 11

fresh pea soup
the vibrant colour
of that moss on the hill

Friday, January 10

I take time to dangle a cloth mouse for Tsuki before going back to work.

Thursday, January 9

Roshi asks to come in the room with his high-pitched meow. I am sitting in front of the Buddha. He brings in the delicious smell of earth.

Wednesday, January 8

tipping away the steamer water, which holds the pale memory of broccoli

Tuesday, January 7

my laptop sits on the hearth as a programme cleans out the virus. inside my body the same thing happens.

Monday, January 6

after a fortnight, this familiar view from my desk. the eucalyptus thrashes in the wind. the track waits for trains.

Sunday, January 5

walking on the hills

a chunk of ice has escaped the puddle & lies on the frosted grass. the green shows through the pane. it has rounded corners, and is almost perfectly square.

Saturday, January 4

soon after waking I enter the garden & the pigeons exit, noisily. the cornus alba is glossy dragon red, and underneath cyclamen flaunt their shocking & delicate pinks. the gentle rain murmurs to me.

Friday, January 3

two smeared red splashes reflected in the window, like mutant robins - I look behind me to the rear lights of the car outside, doubled.

Thursday, January 2

Moss on the Malverns

Shaggy fronds cover the rock like a Disney monster's fur. The sharp lime green is delicious to my eyes. Dawn says it 'might be sphagnum'.

Wednesday, January 1

the first struck match of the year,
like the rip of thick paper.
now our charcoal-coloured Buddha
is holding light
in his hands