Last day

So cold my nose is numb but I still catch the clean clear scent of the Sarcocca in the hedge.

Clean Sheets - Friday 27th

My manuscript is printed. For the moment I'm content to sit with the pristine black and white sheets before I start with the red ink.

Tuesday Seventeenth

This morning the beech trees on the A5 roundabout are modelling themselves on a painting by Carrington - how slender their trunks are and look at the elegant tracery of their branches - but for the cars hurrying past

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.