Sunday, 19 January 2014

first light: behind the bare poplars, two streaks of white cloud. 

Thursday, 16 January 2014

an old man swinging his arms in the bus shelter
a few spots of rain

Tuesday, 14 January 2014

in meditation her foot scrapes across the carpet. shh. the blue-tit is whistling.

Sunday, 12 January 2014

a mad fell runner comes out the the mist
her feet beat an uneven rhythm on the hillside
her breath is whistling 
a mad fell runner comes out the the mist 
her feet beat an uneven rhythm on the hillside
her breath is whistling 

Saturday, 11 January 2014

Thursday, 9 January 2014

through an open gate: a pool of water, full of withered conker husks and brittle leaves clinging to a beech hedge

Wednesday, 8 January 2014

A compass rests on the worn round table we use as an altar. We are creating a ritual space, aligning the shrine with the cardinal points. I reach out and turn the Golden Buddha until he is sitting in the West. His gold leaf is tarnished on one knee and he is chipped at the base. In the low evening light, I am sure he is smiling. 

Tuesday, 7 January 2014

underneath the woodburner: grey ash, a chunk of half burned wood, and the fire-proof glove that needs replacing, with its two scorched holes, one on the palm and one on the thumb.

Monday, 6 January 2014

pre-dawn, the desk lamp throws its light into the room casting long shadows
my morning tea, the banana plant, a stack of notebooks
they lighten as the sun rises

Sunday, 5 January 2014

On Pinnacle Hill, I trace the river with my finger, counting the floods.

Saturday, 4 January 2014

Overheard: in a friendly tone, "I enjoy seeing fat people, they make me feel better about myself".

Friday, 3 January 2014

Naked trees. A few sheep wander into the only patch of sunlight on the hills.

Wednesday, 1 January 2014

My mala has been through the washing machine. 108 beads have lost their deep mahogany shine. They are a dusty wine now, each one aged and worn, and scored with accelerated age.