Monday 7th January 2013

A colleague has died. A big man bounding from his big car, on his way to somewhere from somewhere, full of plans and papers. Expenses, fine wines, good hotels, tall tales. Now, no more of meetings, emails, arrivals, departures, promises. Only the quiet clean corridor,  nurses sweeping under the empty bed.

Sunday January 6th 2013

( We notice there has been no building work for months on a new ‘executive dwelling’.)

Down by the heron river, an unfinished roof, black plastic lifting like a broken wing.  A barrow, abandoned in the track, stacks of breezeblock, neat, by the gate to the high new house.   In their architect dreams, their four-by-four friends come cocktailing, clattering over the stones.  But something is wrong. There are no lights, no laughing guests, no one climbing the stairs to the tall windows, to gaze, amazed, at the man made lake.

Saturday January 5th 2013

Twelfth Night

Winter sky opens wide and yawns a pink, gold sunset. And suddenly a blackbird’s brittle song comes, cold and glittering through the trees.

Friday January 4th 2013

The view from the train is of the workings of things.  The green dripping underbelly of a road bridge, fans on the backsides of factories, the pipes and plumbing of a kitchen sink, unwanted, upside down.

Thursday January 3rd

Carol’s kitchen is cup cake coloured.  We bask like cats in its rainbows.  Crimson, pearl, ochre, vermillion, tangerine, pink, heather, musk, raspberry, violet, mauve.  And all the shimmering possibilities she has not yet spied.

Wednesday January 2nd 2013

We are lacking a word for this dusktime, which brings the dogs out, damp, and quickens the rooks towards the wood.  The trees are blackening against a wet white sky, when a car appears, haloed in its headlamps, bringing the holidaymakers home.

Tuesday January 1st 2013

Hugh appears in a whirl, his arms are full of baguettes, the last in the Co-op.  Breakfast for 19. Bread and bacon a benediction, if only he could raise his hands.