Wednesday, 24 August 2011


The church repairs are finally finished and instead of the cumbersome tower of scaffolding the puddle again reflects only the slender, ethereal spire.

(exceptional addition of photo to kind-of make up for missed days)

Tuesday, 23 August 2011


Bus stop: alighting passengers surge towards the back door. The first one teeters, turns and pushes back - outside is a deep, dark puddle too wide to step across.

Saturday, 20 August 2011

Sheepish sky

Clouds from a child's picture book: plump, puffy sheep dozing on a blue blanket.

Thursday, 18 August 2011


Smoke and sirens:
the smell and sound
of unease.

Wednesday, 17 August 2011


Green, gloopy, grainy, creamy, clumpy, tangy, fibrous, viscous, luscious fennel soup.

Tuesday, 16 August 2011

Office, evening

The framed view of brick wall and windows grows darker as the clamour rising from the unseen bar just below grows louder.

Monday, 15 August 2011


The long, straight, sunbleached path is a tunnel between shadows: mindlessly, one foot in front of the other.

Sunday, 14 August 2011


Edible necklace of red glass beads: all these small, sharp pop-pop-pops of pleasure strung together.

Saturday, 13 August 2011


This dull warmth with low, puffy clouds and the air thick with emotions like a sponge full of water and waiting to be squeezed.

Friday, 12 August 2011

Rosebud Gong Fu

No rosebud in the first expectant sip, but then a bitter-sweet, dried-pink flowering on the tongue.

Thursday, 11 August 2011


The streak of orange is a fox in the road - we hear, but never see them; so much suddenly unleashed and surfacing.

Wednesday, 10 August 2011


The dark, silky cover, painted with yellow letters, opens to creamy pages where fingers love to trail and linger: no such sensual pleasures from an e-reader.


I'm finding it hard to continue this exercise right now. There are difficulties in my personal life that sometimes feel too much, and then I find myself withdrawing increasingly from the present moment, operating in robot mode, seeing little of what's around me. On top of this came the riots in London, a shout-out that it's not just me: the whole of life, of our society at least, teeters as close to the edge as I often do as an individual. In the face of all this, I think it's more important than ever to have a practice of being quiet, being present, paying attention. So I don't revoke my commitment to doing this, but there may be days when I don't manage it.

Tuesday, 9 August 2011

Rumours of riots

8 pm: the sky grew dark and rain began to fall. The street was empty and almost silent. The shops had closed their eyes, pulled down their steel eyelids.

Monday, 8 August 2011


Sunshine: fragrant, toasty, blackened at the corners
- needs some butter.

Sunday, 7 August 2011


Wake again to the sound of raindrops pooling in my navel.

Saturday, 6 August 2011


A fine and fragile
water glass
with bell-shaped rim -
like drinking from
an open flower.

Friday, 5 August 2011


The rain has stopped. Today's damp comes from trickling sweat and tears.

Thursday, 4 August 2011


Through the front window of the bus, a back view of the cyclist's madly pumping calves in tight white trousers.

Wednesday, 3 August 2011


Clutched awkwardly under her other arm - the one not wielding the mobile she's bellowing into - is a large, battery-operated wall clock.

Tuesday, 2 August 2011


The sky is the colour of the overripe lavender flowers whose perfume rolls on the stormy air.