Sunday, 31 January 2010

Vapour Trails

28-01-10 dogfield

Blue skies and long tree shadows

a commitee of sparrows

Saturday, 30 January 2010

Sunny Dogfield

23-01-10 dogfield

Shafts of sunlight

through the poplar branches

a murder of crows

Friday, 29 January 2010

Mist, Bench


The same view as on the 15th HERE but so very different without the snow

Thursday, 28 January 2010

Bear, Jack, Trickster

27-01-10 Dogs Waiting

patiently waiting outside Morrison's supermarket

Saturday, 23 January 2010

Thursday, 14 January 2010

My desk

Rachel's Desk 13-01-10

Just as a brief respite from the run of snow pictures. This is where I spend upwards of 14 hours a day

Rachel's Desk plastic boxes

Thursday, 7 January 2010

Cemetery Road

Cemetery Road

passing the allotments
the scent of pipe tobacco
recalls my grandfather

Wednesday, 6 January 2010

Samantha's Cracked Skin


in the long, cold days before her father installed central heating
(thanks to a grant offered by the local council)
Samantha would spend December to February in her bed
wrapped in blankets with an extra eiderdown and chenille throw
and wearing a woolley hat (knitted by her Aunt Agatha) and socks on her hands,
staring out through windows encrusted with ice on the inside
at a world passing her by with nary a glance behind.

she ventured out once a day for a flask of tea and another of soup
and once a week to visit the library to replenish her dwindling supply
of adventure novels and science fiction and tales of elves and goblins;
and once a month to visit the doctor
who would apply ointment and bandages to her cracked skin
and refuse to talk about the creatures that lived inside her
like fairies in a hollow earth
that only came out when she was alone.

Dogfield, snow

Dogfield one

Tuesday, 5 January 2010

A Miscalculation of the Moon

she picks slivers of silver from the river at midnight.
the full moon scatters them with such abandon
she cannot imagine they are needed anywhere and besides,
there will be more tomorrow.
As the lunar globe slips behind clouds, a hiss
announces the rain as it hits old leaves and suddenly choppy water.
She holds out her tongue and catches a few drops,
pressing them against the roof of her mouth
as if they were grapes peeled by courtesans. The rain
tastes of sulphur and cardamom pods and in her mind's eye
she sees a street in Birmingham, washing strung across a yard
too small for the three children playing in the dirt and the one girl
rocking in the corner by the fence, her face a mask of perpetual shame
as she nurses a belly heavy with her first child
and though she looks at her sister and two brothers' game
she is beset by silence.

Glass globe and Buddah

Glass globe and Buddah

Monday, 4 January 2010

At the Centre

cemetery snow

A dusting of white

fades with the lightening sky

distant aeroplanes

Sunday, 3 January 2010


she thrived on silence
and the rustle of the trees when the wind
brought news of the world outside
her sheltered valley

she asked for rain to swell the river
which turned the wheels of her mill
and scattered seeds of barley and flax
among the fairy bells

she basked in sunlight
that ripened crops and turned her toes brown
and she grew old and wise
but still picked blackberries
that turned her mouth purple
and laughed when she felt like it


01-01-10 Bridlington (6)

Saturday, 2 January 2010



his hands close around the stone
the ball of his thumb resting
against the hole
then turning, turning
deosil – never widdershins –
rubbing our a wish
from the fabric of the universe
until he feels her close –
her breath on his cheek,
he fingers tracing the line of his jaw
and he opens his eyes,
hoping to see his long-dead love
but she is gone –
gone into the wind and the rain
and the crashing of the surf.
He seeks another stone,
certain the right one
will bring her back.


01-01-10 lobster pot

driving through snow
sunny beaches