Frost - Monday Sixteenth

The frost beauty of the morning, red sun rising through silvered trees, is overshadowed by fears my car will go into another skid - one I can't control.

Saturday January Fourteenth

This morning’s cold weather makes the sky more blue or perhaps the clearness in the air makes it possible to see further.

Thursday’s Stone

This mug of tea, this pen, this writing book serve as markers to remind me of the day’s purpose.

Oh yes it is - January Eleventh

This morning at the ‘Walk to school’ stamping table I’m joined, or should that be ambushed, by two pantomime players – the principal boy and the Dame (who is really Mabel’s dad). Fortunately the head teacher doesn’t see them and there’s no sign of her although the Dame offers to pretend to be her if the Ofsted inspectors turn up today.

Seagulls - January tenth

Six seagulls lined up on top of the street light being raucous. I imagine the conversation.

'Shove up Bert I've hardly got room for me feet.'
'Awright Missus keep your feathers on'.

Hungary - Monday Ninth January

I walk into work with John, an academic colleague who spends most of the year working with Roma families. With a shudder he tells me of the return of forced labour to Hungary with people having to go into the forests to work.

How thin the veneer of civilisation is, how thin.

Sunday Eighth

Blackbirds call through the deepening dusk that feels mild as a March lamb. Sky flushed pink with the sunset.